


Doom-Driven

by thelightofmorning



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Ableism, Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Child Neglect, Class Issues, Corpse Desecration, Death, Dragonborn Farkas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantastic Racism, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Misogyny, Multi, Religious Conflict, Sex Work, Slavery, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning
Summary: The mantle of the Last Dragonborn has fallen upon the shoulders of Farkas, Hero-Twin of the Companions of Jorrvaskr, but someone has stolen the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller and the Greybeards won't teach him anymore. Since Shouts are magic, he takes himself and his brother Vilkas to Winterhold because that's where the mages live.Laina South-Wind is the new Master Alchemist and expert on the Dragon Cult after the defeat of the Thalmor Ancano. A gifted mage burdened by the sins of her ancestors near and far, she jumps at the chance to assist the Dragonborn - who just so happens to be a kind, handsome man. So she's crushing. It's not against the law.Alduin doesn't know what's about to hit him - and neither do these two. But Vilkas does. He's shipping them hard - unaware that a love of his own is just around the corner.Who said dooms were a bad thing?
Relationships: Farkas (Elder Scrolls)/Original Character(s), Vilkas/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 75
Kudos: 64





	1. The Arrival of the Dragonborn

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, war crimes, imprisonment, misogyny, alcohol use, classism, criminal acts, slavery, ableism, religious conflict, corpse desecration, emotional trauma, child neglect, child abuse and mentions of genocide, adultery, sex work, torture, child abandonment and child death. Self-indulgent AU with Dragonborn!Farkas/Laina South-Wind (divergence is Torygg dies shortly after inviting her to Skyrim and before she can establish her loyalty, so she’s dismissed from the court and goes to the College of Winterhold instead).

Winterhold, at long last, was finally quiet.

Laina South-Wind accepted a cup of purple mountain flower tea from Haran, wrapping her long olive-bronze fingers around the warm wooden cup. They said it was late summer in these parts, which meant that the air didn’t stick knives into your lungs when you breathed and patches of blue could be seen in the sky. Why the College wasn’t built somewhere more congenial was a mystery to her. Maybe it was a holdover from that whole ‘be as close to Atmora’ attitude Skyrim had for half its history. Or maybe it was the Nord equivalent of a pissing match to see how much cold one could endure in a lifetime.

It was cold in Bruma too, but it was a dry sort of cold that felt different to the wet salty cold of the sea that surged at the base of the chasm that divided College and village. Solitude was relatively temperate, sheltered as it was by the mountains and the natural curve of the harbour. She still missed her snug little room in the Blue Palace and the work she was doing for Torygg. Elisif would have probably kept her on but Tullius gave the order that she be removed from court. Politically, she could understand. Personally, she was still bitter because the legacy of her parents and grandparents continued to blight her life.

Across from her, J’zargo took a slurping gulp of tea from his own mug. The low wide cups better suited for the lapping of a Khajiit’s tongue were rare in Skyrim and even if they weren’t, the insular locals would frown upon a Khajiit drinking like a Khajiit. As if half of them didn’t slosh more mead over themselves when guzzling it.

Next to J’zargo, Brelyna was drawing patterns on the table with a finger dipped in water, arcane diagrams that would only make sense to a Telvanni. They three and the new Master Wizard had shared the adventure of a lifetime and now that the Eye of Magnus had been banished, the ordinary routine of the College seemed almost tedious. Perhaps for J’zargo, ambitious and driven, it was actually so. Brelyna was glad to return to her studies and Laina relished the quiet.

“J’zargo has been meaning to ask you a question,” the Khajiit purred after wiping his mouth. “He thinks Tolfdir is a suitable candidate for Arch-Mage until he is ready for the job. But even he is willing to admit that you are better at administration than himself and wonders why you allowed Onmund to take the position of Master Wizard.”

“Politics,” Laina admitted after a sip of tea. “My parents and two grandparents are traitors to the Empire. Making me Arch-Mage or Master Wizard – two politically sensitive positions of authority – would have been a gauntlet flung in the face of General Tullius. Tolfdir offered me the role, but I suggested Onmund – both to avoid that particular poisoned chalice and to increase the College’s profile and reputation across Skyrim by having a Nord from the Old Holds in the job.”

“There’s a real possibility Ulfric might win,” Brelyna noted.

“In that case, I might travel with you to Solstheim and take up study with Neloth,” Laina said ruefully. “You must remember, I’m the last of the Aurelii… and a reminder to Sigdrifa Stormsword of a marriage she spent two decades pretending never existed.”

Brelyna grimaced. “I thought Telvanni family politics were bad.”

“Oh, they are. But mine are particularly egregious because most of the past three generations have spent their days abusing, abandoning and betraying their kin in the name of whatever cause they espoused,” Laina murmured. “There are worse fates than to be the Master Alchemist at the College. I know, I’ve seen most of them. The Empire, so long as I keep my head down and mind my own business, will let me be. As for the Stormcloaks… only time will tell.”

“You’re welcome to come with me to Solstheim,” Brelyna promised warmly. “Neloth tells me there’s an entire branch of totemic worship among the native Skaal that seems distinct from the Atmorani beliefs of Onmund and his relatives, centred around ‘the Traitor and the Guardian’, whosoever they were, under a sort of all-powerful deity called ‘the All-Maker’.”

“Miraak and Vahlok,” Laina told the womer. “The earliest fragments of Atmorani literature in the Arcaneum tell of Shor being called ‘the All-Maker’, but Miraak and Vahlok were Dragon Priests in a time when dragons ruled Skyrim. Miraak may very well have been the very first Dragonborn, as the Akaviri understood them – a man with a dragon’s soul who could steal the Voice of the dragons themselves.”

“I can see why the Dragon Cult would call him a traitor,” Brelyna observed, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, he was a charming piece of work on top of everything else, one who sold his soul to Herma-Mora – the Woodland Man, or the Greedy Man, in Atmorani belief,” Laina answered dryly. “Like Talos, but more Shouty and less… conquery. Only because the loyalist Dragon Priest Vahlok Shouted so greatly Solstheim was sundered from mainland Skyrim. He was bound or banished somehow, but…”

“But the Skaal maintain he will return one day,” Brelyna finished. “You _really_ have to come to Solstheim with me. It’s outside the ambit of Empire and Stormcloak alike – and Neloth only cares for competence, not race.”

“Maybe one day. I’m honestly content where I am for the moment,” Laina said, taking another gulp of tea. “No adventures, no saving the world-“

The door slammed opened, bringing in a gust of bitterly cold wind and two warriors clad in black-enamelled plate embossed with wolves. “I feel like we’re halfway to Atmora,” complained the lean one, black-haired and with the kind of smouldering gaze that promised a turbulent relationship. “Why couldn’t the mages have built their College elsewhere?”

“Don’t worry, we ask that ourselves and none of the histories give a straight answer,” Brelyna retorted dryly.

The lean warrior laughed shortly. “Sounds like the histories of the Companions.”

Laina swallowed her tea hastily and coughed. His brother – because he was obviously a brother, maybe even a twin – had the kind of sunny open smile that could melt the coldest heart and a grey gaze that was warm and kind. He was _huge_ , rivalling Laina’s brother Bjarni for size, but moved lightly on his feet.

“You okay? Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he asked anxiously as Laina collected herself.

“Tea went down the wrong way,” Laina assured him weakly.

The lean warrior sighed. “I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cupcake,” Laina told him tartly. “Your _brother’s_ more mine.”

The big warrior blushed. “Thanks. Most ladies prefer Vilkas, then they learn he’s into men.”

Vilkas bowed slightly to Laina. “I apologise and commend you on your taste. Farkas isn’t the smartest but he’s the kindest.”

Laina flushed. “I’m sorry. We’ve had a couple nerve-wracking months here and… my manners aren’t as polished as they should be. I’m Laina South-Wind, Master Alchemist of the College. My colleagues are Evokers Brelyna Maryon of House Telvanni and J’zargo of Ri’saad’s caravan.”

“Vilkas and Farkas, Hero-Twins of the Companions of Jorrvaskr,” Vilkas answered with an inclination of his head.

“If it isn’t our favourite two Companions!” Dagur said as he bustled out of the cellar. “What brings you to Winterhold?”

The twins exchanged glances. “Dragons,” Farkas said. “They’re back an’… I can Shout like them. Shoutin’s magic an’ the College’s magic, right? Make sense to speak to the mages about it.”

…

“May the Three Mothers have mercy on our souls,” breathed the mage who’d said Farkas was her type. “Was one of these dragons big and black?”

“The one at Helgen was,” growled Vilkas. “It nearly killed us.”

Laina placed her palms flat on the table and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. She was a far cry from most of the mages who’d paid Companions to escort them – or tried to kill them. Long black hair, an ice-blue scar that could only come from a stalhrim blade cutting down the right side of her face, olive-bronze skin and a beaky Cyrod nose but the blue-green eyes and square jaw of a Nord. “That, if you aren’t aware, was Alduin World-Eater Himself. Since Torygg’s death, I wondered…”

“The Companions have a copy of the _Prophecy of the Last Dragonborn_ in our own records,” Vilkas told her as Farkas struggled to find the words to reply to her statement. “The Greybeards are being parsimonious with their knowledge and someone stole the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller that might pry a little more information from them.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” the pig-tailed Dunmer lass said. “Laina South-Wind is considered Tamriel’s expert on the Dragon Cult of late Atmora and early Skyrim.”

“Farengar’s specialty is more the Dragon War and the culture of the Voices that followed while Esbern, the man who taught us both, was the last and greatest of the Blades loremasters who knew the ancient Akaviri dragonlore,” Laina said with commendable modesty. “Whatever knowledge I have is yours, Dragonborn, though the Blades are dead and gone.”

_Dragonborn._ The Greybeards had called him that and treated Farkas like he was an ignorant child. Maybe he was, but he was going to need more than three part-Shouts to face Alduin. The Companions had brought as many Words as they could find but he needed to find dragons to learn them, which was dangerous for all concerned. He wished someone hadn’t stolen the Horn; maybe the Greybeards would teach him more if he did as they said.

But in Jorrvaskr, there were no masters and servants, and the Greybeards seemed to think he was some kind of whelp again. Okay, maybe he technically was, but no Companion of the Circle stinted in their teaching of the whelps.

“Thanks,” he repeated.

Laina smiled at him and Farkas blushed again. She really was a pretty woman.

“How does a dragon give birth to a human?” the Dunmer asked the Khajiit softly.

“It’s a translation of ‘Dovahkiin’ – ‘Dragon – Born’,” Laina immediately answered. “Or ‘Dragon-Hunter-Born’ in some translations. Both, as I understand it, are equally valid. But it’s a reference to the fact that Farkas has the soul of a dragon but is obviously mortal.”

“And here J’zargo was about to ask if it was the mother or the father who was the dragon,” drawled the Khajiit.

Farkas grinned at him. “We dunno. Our da never mentioned our ma.”

“Assuming Jergen _was_ our father,” Vilkas muttered.

Laina drank down the rest of her tea and stood up. “Brelyna, J’zargo, please excuse me. Time is of the essence.”

“Somebody spoke too soon,” Brelyna noted dryly. “’No more adventures, no more saving the world’…”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Laina retorted. “I suspect my part to play in this will be to give whatever knowledge to Farkas I can, then go back to my potions and books. I’ll see you two at dinner.”

Dagur rubbed his chin. “Does that mean you two will be needing a room?”

It took Farkas a moment to remind himself the innkeeper was referring to him and Vilkas, not him and Laina. She probably lived at the College.

“We’ll take one for three days,” Vilkas said, counting out the coin. “I can’t imagine us staying at the College.”

“Our guest room’s been taken by our new Psijic advisor and we haven’t gotten around to furnishing a new one,” Laina admitted. “As I said before, we’ve had a couple nerve-wracking weeks.”

“They couldn’t be possibly worse than ours,” Vilkas complained as they went to the door.

“A Thalmor agent got his hands on an Aedric artefact of immense power and nearly ended the world,” Laina said, grabbing an elaborate staff of birch carved with snowflakes and topped with a sphere of polished turquoise. “Alduin’s the kind to savour his meals, so you should have a little longer to defeat him.”

“I’m guessing ‘World-Eater’ isn’t metaphorical,” Vilkas said, arching an eyebrow.

“No. Try not to die heroically and go to Sovngarde. The old Akaviri dragonlore states that he likes to eat the souls of the heroic dead as dessert.”

That was something the Greybeards hadn’t told Farkas.

Dusk had fallen outside and clouds hid the moons. Laina leaned her staff against the inn’s wall, cupped her hands, and cast a faintly blue-green ball of light that hovered around her with just enough radiance to see. “It’ll get us across the bridge,” she promised as she led them down Winterhold’s one street. “Faralda casts Magelights at the parts where you’re supposed to turn so no one falls off.”

“How reassuring,” Vilkas observed sardonically.

“The disrepair’s illusionary. It keeps hordes of idiot Old Holders who think we eat babies from raiding the College. But never underestimate the gift of a drunk apprentice to fall from something,” Laina answered dryly.

“You should meet one of our whelps,” Farkas told her. “Torvar’s always drunk.”

“A drunk mage is generally a dead mage after a few months,” Laina said with a sigh. “The forces we wield…”

“If he doesn’t sober up, he’ll probably die on someone’s sword,” Vilkas agreed. “I only hope it isn’t one of ours in practice.”

“If this Torvar was in the College, I’d expel him without a moment’s thought as a danger to the faculty,” Laina admitted candidly. “I suppose you Companions have your own mechanisms for dealing with dangerous ‘whelps’, as you call them.”

“So you’re senior faculty then?” Vilkas asked as they crossed the bridge. As promised, there was a white-gold light ahead, and the stone beneath Farkas’ feet felt solid.

“Yes. Currently Master Alchemist but likely to take over Alteration when I complete the appropriate Master Ritual.” There was a smile in her voice. “Arch-Mage Shalidor created the ritual spells that grant our ultimate understanding of our School in a journey across Skyrim. Tolfdir believes in a few months I’ll be ready.”

“Shalidor? He’s kinda like Ysgramor but for magic, right?” Farkas asked.

“…Kind of, but with less genocide. Quite an elitist when it came to magic, but also a genius. Labyrinthian and several other places were created by him.” There was chagrin in her voice now. “I apologise for what I just said about Ysgramor.”

“It’s true,” Vilkas grunted. “But even an elf can have the heart of a Nord, we have learned since then.”

“Send a memo to Ulfric and his people then. Their definition of a Nord is way too narrow.”

Farkas leaned over to Vilkas behind Laina’s back. “Think I know what Athis’ Provin’s gonna be.”

“Beating up Ulfric? I admire the idea but it will cause a political shitstorm,” Vilkas murmured.

“Nope. Next time Ulfric holds a trial by combat, he’s gonna champion the one who can’t fight. Because he’s a Companion, Ulfric will have to let it happen.”

“When that happens, can I give you a recording crystal?” Laina asked over her shoulder. “Because _that_ deserves to be immortalised forever.”

Vilkas laughed. “I like how you think.”

So did Farkas. And how she looked.

Coming to Winterhold wasn’t a dumb idea after all.


	2. Family Histories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism, religious conflict and child abandonment. The Dewin system is the Dewey system and I’ve included my head-canon about mages being able to extend their lifespans with Alteration and Restoration magic.

“Here’s everything we have on the dragons, histories of and prophecies relating to,” Urag growled as he put the pile of books on the desk. “There might be other sources, but they’ll be secondary ones within other references. Good hunting.”

“Thanks,” Vilkas said dryly as the Orcish librarian returned to his post. “There’s only fifty or so books here. We’ll be here all night.”

“Don’t be insulting,” Laina said as she went through the pile, pulling out everything she’d read before and marking those relevant for later research. “The library has adopted the Dewin system, the most modern book cataloguing system in Tamriel. It’ll take us a couple hours at most to find those volumes relevant and in the morning, I’ll be able to bring a basic report to you at the inn. I’ve just brought you over to introduce you to the faculty for the next time you pay a visit. I’ll give you a magelight for the trip back to the village.”

“I apologise.” From the grating tone of his voice, Vilkas wasn’t used to doing that. “I’m used to doing my own research. Aside from Kodlak, whose duty it is to maintain the Harbinger’s Chronicles, most of the Companions aren’t exactly scholars unless it pertains to war or the Eddas.”

“I’m not,” Farkas admitted cheerfully. “But I guess you’re not much of a warrior, so it evens out.”

“I know which end of a sword to use,” Laina told him. “Stick an enemy with the pointy bit while I’m throwing fire in their face.”

“That’s about five times more sword-work than most mages learn,” Vilkas said approvingly. “How’d you wind up on the wrong end of a stalhrim blade? I’ve seen just enough of them to recognise the scars from one.”

“Dragon Cult tomb in Bruma. I’d just made Journeyman and was scouting for bone meal to make fire-resistant resin for the local blacksmith’s shop. King-draugr with a stalhrim sword,” Laina answered as she thumbed through _The Alduin/Akatosh Dichotomy._ “It took a lot of running and throwing firebolts at the damn thing to kill it. The dumb luck of the young, I suppose. I kept the blade as… well, both a reminder of my idiocy and a sign of my Nord heritage.”

“So you _are_ a Nord?” Farkas asked.

“I am. Mother was Kreathling, Father was Redguard. _Both_ of them had no business being married and _both_ of them rebelled against the Empire separately.” She set the book aside. “Kyne, but Alexandre Simon’s an absolute ass. Pity he wasn’t at Helgen to meet the World-Eater. Misunderstood oral interpretation of Akatosh my arse!”

“That’s what I love about you, Laina!” Urag called from his desk. “You always tell us your opinion of the treatise in such academic language.”

“This from the Orc who threatened to tear Ancano apart by two Atronachs for putting his feet up on a desk, only in more pungent terms straight from the strongholds,” Laina retorted. “Pity you never carried through with that threat. We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

“Something, something, politics, something, bullshit,” Urag said with a sigh. “Savos’ timidity and Mirabelle’s desire to not rock the boat killed them as much as that Thalmor bastard did.”

“True,” Laina agreed.

“And here I thought the College would be boring,” Vilkas observed.

“We could arrange for you to be trapped by Colette Marance as she lists the top one hundred reasons why Restoration is a valid form of magic,” Urag offered.

“It _is_ a valid form of magic and half her attitude comes from the fact that half the faculty are dicks towards her,” Laina chided. “Sure, she’s a pain in the arse, but have you listened to Nirya lately? You’d think she and Ancano were betrothed the way she carries on.”

“Dragons,” Farkas prompted. “Not I mind listenin’ to ya talk, but we need to know about dragons.”

Laina blushed. He really was the sweetest man.

“So, the gist of it is that dragons are physical demigods created by Akatosh at the dawn of time,” she said, returning to sorting out the books. “Alduin was meant to consume worlds and rebirth them in a process not unlike that of Satakal’s in Yokudan theology – there’s even a speculation that they might be different names for the same entity. But he rebelled and decided to rule Keizaal – Skyrim.”

“That matches with the Companions’ histories,” Vilkas confirmed, leaning back in his chair. “The Three Tongues overthrew Alduin and freed Skyrim from the dragons’ tyranny sometime in the late Merethic Era or early First Era.”

“You skipped quite a bit of history there. The first Dragonborn, as we know them, was Miraak the Traitor. Dragon Priest turned dragon soul-eater who sold his own soul to Hermaeus Mora,” Laina corrected. “The second of note was Wulfharth. Saint Alessia’s case is… complicated. She was imbued by Akatosh’s power but we’re not sure if she’s a Dragonborn like Farkas. Reman Cyrodiil _definitely_ was. The Akaviri crossed an ocean to serve him as the Dragonguard… and they eventually morphed into the Blades of yore. I can trace my ancestry back to the Dragonguard on my father’s side.”

“Wulfharth – he was Ysmir,” Farkas said quietly.

“Yes.” Laina pinched the bridge of her nose. “But Ysmir is an honorific given to Talos, possibly Olaf One-Eye…”

“The Dragon of the North,” Vilkas told her. “My brother is Ysmir, though the Greybeards must recognise him as such first, and they haven’t done that since Talos.”

“Yeah, and look how _that_ turned out,” Laina observed. “Talos and the Blades were the worst things to happen to each other. Give a warlord with an innate desire to conquer and dominate a group of masterless minions who will do absolutely anything commanded…”

She shuddered. “We’re still dealing with the aftermath today.”

“I don’t wanna conquer anything,” Farkas said softly.

“For which I give thanks to the gods,” Laina told him sincerely. “Just because you have the innate desire to be an arsehole doesn’t mean you should actually go through with it.”

“Farkas doesn’t have an arsehole bone in his body,” Vilkas assured her.

“Let me guess, you got them all,” she retorted dryly.

The Companion shrugged. “I don’t tolerate fools well. And Skyrim is full of fools.”

“Yes, I’ve been to a Moot,” Laina noted, earning a laugh from both twins and Urag.

“You should come to Jorrvaskr,” Vilkas said with a smirk. “You’d fit right in.”

“I’m too old to go learning sword-work,” Laina said ruefully.

“You’re not even thirty-five, woman, and I damned well know you know the age-staving spells,” Urag told her. “I was a warrior before I became a mage.”

“Age-staving spells?” Farkas asked.

“A mage of at least Adept proficiency in both Alteration and Restoration can use their magicka to slow the effects of ageing,” Laina explained. “It doesn’t confer true immortality, but Tolfdir’s a bit over two hundred years old, Mirabelle was eighty-something and looked thirty, and Urag’s pushing a century. My own grandfather lived to be nearly a century old and _his_ father was still in his prime at ninety-something. From my great-great-grandfather to my grandfather, the male line were mages, and even the non-mages dabbled in sorcery while the maternal line has one noted sorceress who’s still alive despite teaching at the College sixty-something years ago.”

She sighed. “I apologise. Back to the dragons.”

Vilkas yawned. “Look, just give us the report tomorrow. It was a long walk from Whiterun and even Companions need to rest.”

Laina nodded and cast Magelight to stick to both men. “That will last you long enough to get back to the village in conjunction with Faralda’s lights. What time is a good one to deliver the report?”

“Noon. That’ll give you time to sleep too.” Farkas smiled at her and her heart beat a little faster. “Night, Laina. Thanks for the help. I learned more from you than the Greybeards already.”

“Night,” she said softly, rising to her feet.

When they were gone, Urag chuckled. “Looks like you got an admirer there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said over her shoulder as she returned to the desk. “I’m sure he was just being nice.”

Urag just laughed harder.

…

“I like her,” Vilkas observed as they walked back into town. The night was dark but held no strangeness to Farkas. Even with a dragon soul, the wolf’s blood gave him perfect night vision. Laina’s magelights were a nice gesture though. “You could do a lot worse.”

“You match-makin’ now?” Farkas asked his twin.

“Maybe,” Vilkas admitted easily. “It’s a shame the mages got her before we did. I think she’d have made a great Companion.”

“If she’d been a Companion, maybe she couldn’t help us as she is now,” Farkas pointed out.

“Good point.”

The morning was spent killing a couple wild beasts who’d ventured too close to Winterhold and tanning their skins for Birna, who paid them some few coins. The Hold was the poorest and most isolated in Skyrim, the Jarl too busy sulking about past glories to fix the present problems.

Laina was waiting for them at the inn, a mug of purple mountain flower tea to hand and a neat sheaf of papers stacked before her. “Good hunting?” she asked as the twins entered.

“Two wolves. Birna’s gonna make their pelts into winter cloaks for her and Ranmir,” Farkas told her. “What about you?”

“For something that’s close to five thousand years old, the Ysmir Collective’s short on solid information,” Laina answered, her voice chagrined. “ _I’d_ done more practical research when I was Torygg’s court researcher. I’ve included all the Dovahzul inscriptions I could find. I hope it’s helpful.”

Farkas learned a lot of the first Words to Shouts, an entire one that encased an enemy in ice and another to throw his Voice to distract an enemy, and even a Word that could call a terrible storm. He’d need to kill a lot of dragons to learn these Shouts properly, because he didn’t see the Greybeards knowing or sharing the meanings of these Words.

“Succinctly, as I’m sure the Greybeards told you, Shouts are made up of three Words that scale in power with each one used,” Laina continued as Farkas read slowly through the Dragonish script. “These were the ones I could find in Haafingar, the Pale and Winterhold, with trips down into Hjaalmarch and the northern Reach. Knowing Alduin, he’ll probably set up draconic guards at other Word Walls as to impede your progress.”

“I really only know a coupla Shouts, an’ of them I only know two Words for one from the Greybeards,” Farkas admitted. “I’m gonna have to kill a lot of dragons to learn these ones.”

Laina nodded. “I was giving some thought to the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, too. I suspect, though I won’t swear to it, that one of the surviving Blades may have stolen it to force contact. Were you left any kind of note or clue?”

Vilkas’ mouth tightened. “Yeah. We were told to go hire the attic room at the Sleeping Giant in Riverwood – but that inn _has_ no attic room. We’ve stayed there a dozen times as it’s just outside Whiterun, in a matter of speaking.”

“Oh, for the love of Kyne, that’s… How that Blade managed to survive Ustengrav would be beyond me. The dumb luck of a fool, I suppose.” Laina shook her head in disgust. “Or they think you’re an idiot and are treating you as such.”

Farkas shrugged. “Vilkas is smarter’n me. Everyone knows that.”

“Academic intelligence isn’t everything. I’ve known geniuses with the emotional depth of a frozen turnip and less common sense than a gnat,” Laina observed with a sigh. “You strike me as having great empathy and sensibility, Farkas. That’ll serve you more as Dragonborn than any knowledge I can give you.”

“Intelligence and wisdom don’t always go hand in hand, but I’m pleased to say that you are one of the rare exceptions,” Vilkas said with a slight smile. “You may call the Hero-Twins friend, Master Laina.”

She glanced away, a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Thank you. Outside of the College, I have few.”

Dagur bustled over with some bread, smoked meat and cheese. “Have any of you eaten?”

“No,” Laina confessed. “I lose track of meals when I’m researching.”

Dagur clicked his tongue in disappointment. “You need to remember them, Laina. It’s poor advertising if you drop dead from hunger in my inn.”

“It’d liven up the town for the next six months,” she said ruefully, accepting a plateful of sliced food.

“If we want entertainment, we’ll tell Nelacar that J’zargo thinks he’s a pretentious idiot,” Dagur said dryly.

“Why bother when J’zargo will do it himself?” Laina put a slice of rabbit between some bread and ate it neatly. “Are there any concerns at the moment I need to know about?”

“Korir wants us to evict Nelacar and send him back to the College. He’s our only regular source of income at the moment,” Dagur told her with a sigh.

“Nelacar was expelled from the College for associating with a necromancer who conducted dubious experiments even by necromantic standards,” Laina answered. “The only reasons he’s still at liberty are because we can prove nothing and would rather keep an eye on him rather than drive him into the wilderness.”

“He does perform some dubious experiments,” Dagur conceded. “You’re the Thane. Can you speak to the Jarl?”

“I’ll try,” she promised.

“Thanks.” Dagur smiled and returned to the bar.

“Thane?” Farkas asked curiously.

“I did a few things around town and the next thing I know, I’ve been handed a staff by Jarl Korir and told I’m the newest Thane of Winterhold,” Laina admitted, flushing. “I’ve become something of a go-between for the College and the village. Now that there’s two Nords in charge, Korir’s willing to talk more with the mages, though it’s still through gritted teeth.”

Vilkas helped himself to some bread and cheese. “You’re essentially a noble with diplomatic immunity in all the Holds of Skyrim. That could be useful if you want to travel and study.”

“Politics?” Laina’s grimace said it all.

“Only if you want to play them. Most of the Jarls ignore Korir, which gets on his nerve.” Vilkas swallowed some food. “If you’re curious, members of the Circle – the senior Companions just under the Harbinger – are socially equal to a Thane when it comes to calculating wergild. Farkas and I are both members of the Circle.”

“So, how did the pair of you become Companions?” Laina asked suddenly.

“Our father Jergen was one,” Farkas told her. “Like Aela the Huntress, it’s in our blood, and we grew up at Jorrvaskr. We were Companions by sixteen and members of the Circle by twenty. That was… hmm…”

“Fifteen years ago,” Vilkas added. “Only Skjor and Aela are senior to us in experience. We have no rank-and-file Companions at the moment because many of the skilled warriors we might have once recruited have chosen to work for the Jarls, as independent adventurers or go south to make money in the Fighters’ Guild. Only the Circle and the whelps.”

“One of who is a drunk,” she noted.

“Yeah. If we can sober Torvar up, he’s got a lot of potential.” Farkas smiled at her. “How’d you become a mage?”

“Born to it, I suppose. My parents weren’t mages, though they made use of magic, and my first tutor was a loremaster and sorcerer named Esbern because my parents were too busy fighting in the Great War and my grandfather was too busy plotting to take the Ruby Throne.” Laina sipped some of her tea, grimacing. “After the Aurelii Rebellion and the Bruma Purge, my father was behind enemy lines in Hammerfell and my mother felt there was no reason to believe I’d survived Cloud Ruler’s fall, so I was left to the Imperial Workhouse. Given I was casting Adept-level Alteration spells by the age of eight, there was no place I could go _but_ the Synod.”

Farkas and Vilkas exchanged glances. They’d at least known the love of family from the Companions.

“You’re Irkand’s niece, aren’t you?” his brother asked. “Skjor and him are quite good friends.”

“Yes.” Laina sighed. “Given I’d seen what the Thalmor did to the Blades, I gave the authorities a false name because I feared to die like they had. By the time it was found out, I’d been Laina South-Wind for the past several years, and the Elder Council decided to let it go so long as I was aware I’d never hold any position of authority or rank in Cyrodiil. The Aurelii were interdicted, you see, for Arius’ treason. My father remained in Hammerfell and wed again, having a son. My mother went on to have two more sons with another Nord. I’ve never met one brother and only spoken to the Nord two once or twice.”

Farkas reached out and clasped her hand. “You got a family in the College, don’t ya?”

“Yes.” She squeezed his hand briefly. “I apologise for sharing the sordid family history. You have more important things on your mind.”

“You’d be surprised what we Companions see. Others come to us for help an’ vengeance because they can’t do it themselves,” Farkas told her. “Me an’ Vilkas were kidnapped by necromancers as kids. Jergen saved us an’ took us back to Jorrvaskr. Don’t remember much, but was scared.”

“He sounds like he’s a good man,” Laina answered.

“He died in the Great War,” Vilkas said bitterly. “The day he left, he never looked back.”

“I’m sorry.” Laina’s tone was sincere.

Farkas smiled at her again. He couldn’t help it. “So, umm, anything else we need to know about dragons?”


	3. Debt of Honour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, imprisonment and mentions of adultery, torture and religious conflict. Yes, it’s a Vilkas/Marius ship. Laina, if she existed in the Dragon Age universe, would be a Force Mage.

Two weeks later, the twins returned to Winterhold, and even the sunny Farkas was fuming. Laina took one look at their expressions, handed Dagur a small bag of coin, and told him to keep the food and mead coming until it ran out before leading them to the corner table.

“You were right,” Vilkas said tersely after quaffing half a tankard of mead. “A Blade named Delphine stole the Horn… and she won’t cooperate with us until we agree to break into the Thalmor Embassy for her!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Laina said wearily. “I shouldn’t be surprised she survived. Seems like everyone who deserved to die didn’t and those who deserved to survive didn’t.”

Farkas lowered his tankard. “That’s harsh.”

“Delphine was Second Blade. She was sleeping with the Third Blade, my uncle. Then she dumped him for the First Blade, my father, who happened to be married to the representative from the Shieldmaidens of Talos, my mother, and they conducted a very torrid, very _public_ affair in an attempt to induce a divorce.”

Vilkas’ jaw dropped. “You’re joking!”

“I wish to Kynareth I was. Half the reason the Blades were caught by the Thalmor was because they were preoccupied with the mess that was the Aurelii.” Laina poured herself some mead and had a few hearty gulps. “Why in the gods’ name does she want you to break into the Thalmor Embassy?”

“She thinks they might know why the dragons returned,” Farkas grumbled, swallowing some mead.

“They’re back because Alduin is resurrecting them, and _he_ returned because Ulfric fulfilled the last condition of the prophecy by killing Torygg!” Laina drank some more mead. “Talos titty- _fucking_ Dibella, has everyone lost their _bloody_ minds?”

Vilkas spat out his mead and a sudden silence descended upon the Frozen Hearth.

“That’s… a new one,” Farkas said, shocked.

“It was one of my father’s favourites.” Laina drained the rest of her tankard and held it out for Dagur or Haran to refill. “The fact remains that Delphine’s forgotten her job is to _obey_ the Dragonborn, not drag him into some hare-brained scheme that’ll get everyone killed and the world doomed!”

“Somehow I don’t think Delphine’s got much respect for vows and honour,” Vilkas observed darkly, wiping his mouth. “But she’s got us over a barrel, Laina.”

“Have you considered hiring someone from the Guild? I’ve always preferred to hire professionals for this sort of thing.” Laina smiled and nodded thanks to Dagur as he refilled her tankard.

“That’s not very honourable,” Farkas said with a frown.

“Well, you two could break into the Embassy, hack every Thalmor you see to death, and get the information that way,” Laina pointed out. “Frontal assaults are always _honourable,_ right?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose as Farkas gave her a wounded look. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve always preferred to handle things discreetly and with minimal violence or casualties. Delphine… Fucking _hell_. Delphine. Of all the Blades to survive, it had to be her.”

“The problem is that the Companions can’t be tied to anything so… _covert_ ,” Vilkas said with a sigh. “I’m… not going to argue with you about the moral course here, because you’re right. But the Hero-Twins can’t just walk into the Ragged Flagon and hire the Guild for a high-stakes job. We retrieve stolen things, not arrange for them to be stolen!”

“Can you stay a couple days? One of the faculty has ties to the Guild and he’s not above arranging such things,” Laina said with a sigh of her own. “He owes me one.”

“You’d spend a favour helping us?” Farkas asked.

“I said what knowledge I had was yours, Dragonborn. If Enthir can’t help me, there’s a contact I can use for… well, something like this. It’s risky and it will burn a lot of bridges, but stopping Alduin is worth it.”

Later on, when she cornered Enthir, the Bosmer immediately shook his head. “Brynjolf won’t take on that kind of job for anything less than ten thousand septims.”

“Can you have him break into a secret compartment in a village inn owned by a Blade known for participating in covert operations instead?” Laina asked. “He just needs to acquire an ivory horn.”

The College’s quartermaster brightened. “That he can do. Arrange for her to be gone and the horn is yours.”

“Thanks. Do this and we’re square.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Seems like I’m the only one of Blades blood keeping her oath.”

“Gallus would have liked you,” Enthir said softly. “Say… you’re on good terms with Calcelmo, aren’t you?”

“Relatively,” Laina confirmed.

“I need something translated for a friend. Catch is, it’s written in High Falmer script. Urag only knows Low Falmer.”

“And you want me to break into Calcelmo’s lab, steal the translation of Falmer he’s working on, and deliver you a copy?” Laina asked sardonically.

“I was hoping you’d be able to talk him into letting you see it.”

“I’ve got more chance of talking your friend into robbing the Thalmor Embassy.”

“Fucking hell.” Enthir nodded. “Fine. You’ve made your point.”

Laina sighed. “I’m sorry, Enthir. I will be going to Markarth. Better hope the Thalmor don’t send me to Northwatch Keep.”

…

Laina returned later that evening with a grim expression that was better suited to Vilkas’ face than hers. “I’m going to activate my main contact. Enthir can’t help me for anything less than ten thousand septims,” she said apologetically. “That means I’m going to Markarth.”

“We’re goin’ with ya,” Farkas said immediately.

“I move faster on my own. The more distance from this, the better… particularly if I fail.” She swore under her breath, the name ‘Delphine’ cropping up. “I did call in the favour to have the Horn collected. It should be delivered to Jorrvaskr in a few days.”

Farkas and Vilkas _did_ plan to follow her… except she turned into a hawk and flew away.

“Laina’s totem is the hawk,” observed Brelyna from her place on the porch. “I’m given to understand she’s studied some of the old Reach magics. She has a breadth of magical knowledge rare for a Synod-trained mage.”

The twins had no choice but to return home to Jorrvaskr and wait.

During the week that followed, they took on a few minor jobs and drilled the whelps. Athis was nearing his Proving and they wanted to find an appropriate trial by combat for him. Both he and Ulfric needed to learn lessons about honour.

As promised, the Horn was delivered by no less a personage than Brynjolf himself. “Enthir gave me the scoop, lads,” the Thief said tersely as they met in the training yard under cover of darkness. “Thalmor have been sniffing around the Rift. Be careful.”

The next day, Laina arrived and her expression was devastated. “I should have let you do a frontal assault on the Embassy,” she said in between sobs. “Marius… He’s been caught and sent to Northwatch Keep and _I can’t get him out!_ ”

Vilkas took her into the Underforge, damning the rules, while Farkas went to get Skjor and Aela. Laina had put her contact in danger for the sake of their honour and so the Companions were bound to help him. The news they’d gotten about Thorald Grey-Mane may have also played a part in his decision.

“So this is your mage lady friend,” Skjor observed to Farkas as he entered the Underforge. “She looks familiar.”

“She’s related to Irkand,” Vilkas said shortly.

“Ah! Laina.” Skjor came around and gave Laina a hug. “I consider Irkand a Shield-Brother. Welcome to Jorrvaskr. What’s happened?”

In between bouts of weeping, Laina revealed the greatest secret of the Blades: an Altmer operative named Marius Aurelius, a cousin of hers, had been deep cover in the Thalmor for over a century as Ondolemar. “The same Marius who was confidant to Martin Septim and Aurelia Northstar,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “I told him what was going on and he went to investigate…”

But Marius was caught and now was in Northwatch Keep to endure what cruelties the Thalmor would concoct for a Blade who had deceived them for so long.

“First Thorald and now this,” Aela said, her expression troubled. “Honour demands…”

“Kodlak will refuse,” Vilkas told him. “He will say…”

“The old man has lost his way in his obsession for a cure,” Skjor said grimly. “We owe the Grey-Manes a debt of honour and now this Marius. We must find a way to rescue them from Northwatch Keep.”

“If you get caught, the Thalmor will come after you too,” Laina said softly.

Vilkas sighed. “I know you don’t like rampant slaughter, Laina, but this will require no survivors who will speak of it. The other prisoners will be as keen for silence as we.”

“We should tell her,” Aela said. “The granddaughter of Matriarch Catriona will be… understanding.”

“Yes, I do know about the werewolf pack,” Laina confirmed. “I don’t know nor care how many of you are such.”

“All of the Circle,” Farkas admitted glumly. “But some of us want a cure now.”

“You’re Dragonborn and a werewolf? Ye gods, Hircine and Akatosh will probably dice for your soul after death.” Laina knuckled her eyes. “Four werewolves and a mage. If we can sneak into the side entrance, I might be able to free the prisoners. If Marius gets his hands on a sword, the Thalmor are horker-chow.”

“You’re coming with us?” Vilkas asked, startled.

“Marius pulled me from the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple,” she said softly. “He and I are the last of the Aurelii. _I will not abandon him._ ”

“We like her,” Skjor told Farkas with a grin. “You can keep her.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Laina blushed rose-red and Vilkas laughed at the expression on his brother’s face.

…

There was no honour in the fight to get into Northwatch Keep. One by one the sentries were taken out by Aela and Skjor as Laina slipped in, wearing sneak-enchanted robes, and unlocked the side door that she said led to the prison. She’d gone and scouted the place before coming to Jorrvaskr. She was wasted at the College.

Farkas and Vilkas followed her through the back room and into the prison, where a couple Altmer were talking casually while someone screamed in the distance. “I hear Elenwen’s got something planned for the Blade,” remarked one. “Something… special.”

“Honestly, we should just give the mer a clean death out of respect,” observed the other.

“Don’t let Elenwen hear that. She’ll let-“ He clutched his throat, as did his friend, and Farkas glanced in Laina’s direction.

Every hair was standing up and her entire body glowed blue-green with magicka, matching bands around the throats of the Thalmor. She clenched her fists and their necks snapped audibly, then she dropped their corpses with a thud. One more gesture opened all the levers to the prison cells at once, releasing a stream of prisoners who damned well nearly trampled the trio on their way out. Good, no witnesses.

“What was that?” demanded a robed Altmer as he came around the corner. “By the-“

A magically thrown woodcutter’s axe split his head open.

Farkas and Vilkas just stared. Laina had killed three mer in as many minutes.

“The interrogation chamber will be on the same level. Hold the door so I can free any prisoners.” Still glowing, she walked down the corridor.

They were joined by Thorald and a tall, lean mer with fresh bruises. “You could get yourself killed!” the mer hissed to Laina.

“And Elenwen was probably going to stuff your soul into a sex toy,” Laina retorted. “Be glad of the rescue, Marius.”

Vilkas handed him an elven sword from one of the dead guards and gave Thorald the axe. “We leave no Thalmor alive.”

Thorald gave a cold smile. “Words after my own heart, Vilkas.”

What followed had little or no honour to it and Farkas wasn’t proud of himself, but it had to be done. Marius and Thorald cut down their captors like scythes through wheat, most of the Thalmor too groggy from sleep to resist much, and they rejoined Skjor and Aela outside. Behind them, Laina lay a trail of oil and cast Flames on it to engulf the fort in fire.

Up in the hills, reaction caught Marius and Thorald, and both just sat down. Laina was immediately beside them, her magicka spurting out in fits as she cast healing spells, and Farkas found himself yawning but too keyed up to sleep.

“We need to get deeper into the Reach,” Aela said gently. “There’s an Orcish stronghold nearby Skjor and I are known at.”

“Let me brush out the trail.” Laina used the last of her magicka to drag pine boughs across the sand and snow.

They didn’t make it to the stronghold but found a secure cave with only a couple sabre cats to argue possession. Aela and Skjor killed them and made up beds for everyone while Laina drained a weak magicka potion and cast a Rune trap-spell on the entrance.

“You should sleep,” he told her after everyone had dropped into slumber.

“So should you,” she retorted, her gaze haunted. “Farkas, what happened tonight…”

“It was wrong. We killed sleepin’ enemies like… assassins.” Farkas sighed and sat down next to her. “But what they did to Thorald Grey-Mane an’ Marius was worse.”

“I bet that was the argument Ysgramor and his sons made to the Captains of the Return,” she noted. “Atrocity shouldn’t justify atrocity.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” he agreed. “Kodlak won’t be happy. But we owed a debt of honour to ‘em both an’ we had to save ‘em. I just wish we coulda done it more honourably.”

“I guess I’m not as pragmatic as I thought,” she murmured sleepily. “I’m sickened by what I did today.”

“So ya should be,” he admitted. “’Cause otherwise, it becomes easier, an’ ya become a monster. An’ ya aren’t a monster.”

“Neither are you.”

…

“Drink. Eat. We have a long trip ahead of us.”

Marius accepted the water and strip of jerky from the warrior named Vilkas. Tall and lean of line, he was handsome in a smouldering kind of way. His hulking twin brother Farkas was the Dragonborn, according to Laina; it was hard to credit the kind, simple man as possessing something as complex as a dragon’s soul. But his pupils flashed red-green and the rumble was in his baritone.

“Thank you. I hope you haven’t put yourselves in danger,” Marius told him. “Elenwen…”

“Elenwen’s going to have bigger problems, I suspect,” Laina said as she brushed out her hair. “There’s very little way she can redeem a fuck-up of this magnitude, short of presenting your head and mine to the Thalmor High Council on a moonstone platter.”

Marius smiled thinly. “I hope you’re right. But what now? Ondolemar is dead-“

“And the legendary Marius Aurelius has emerged from the shadows of history to fight dragons,” Laina interrupted. “You need to go to Riverwood and sort Delphine out. She set this mess in motion.”

“No.” Marius gnawed at his jerky. “We need to go to Riften and rescue Esbern. The Thalmor are after him and he’s the last living loremaster of the Blades.”

“Brynjolf mentioned the Thalmor were sniffin’ ‘round the Ratway when he delivered the Horn,” Farkas remarked to Laina.

She closed her eyes as she bound up her hair. “Marius, you’re not up for physical duty. Skjor, Aela, can you escort him to Whiterun?”

“If he’s as competent a warrior as the chronicles state, it wouldn’t be strange for him to join the Companions,” Skjor, the one-eyed warrior, observed. “He helped us. We owe him a debt of honour.”

“Then we and Laina will go to Riften after Jorrvaskr,” Vilkas said decisively. “She can hold her own in combat.”

“I’d always hoped you’d be kept free of this…” Marius gestured in the direction of the burning Northwatch Keep.

“I can’t. It’s in my blood.” She handed Farkas her brush. “I’ll take point in the Reach. I know the signs for peace.”

They travelled through the Reach without incident, Laina defusing any tensions with the Forsworn by making a few gestures and talking to them in their lilting language. A couple spat when her grandmother’s name came up but let them pass unmolested. Just before Rorikstead, they were met by a lithe Breton with olive skin and a crest of brown hair.

“Kaie,” Laina said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t stay and chat.”

“I know, cousin,” the woman answered in lilting Tamrielic. “Why did you ask the wolves of Jorrvaskr for help on your raid?”

“We had a debt of honour to Marius and Thorald,” Vilkas growled. “What business is it-?”

“ _Vilkas_. This is my maternal cousin Kaie of Lost Valley Clan,” Laina said over her shoulder. “Please shut up and let me handle it.”

“Amazing,” Kaie drawled. “Lowlanders _can_ be trained.”

“Kaie.” Laina sighed. “Farkas is the Dragonborn and a Companion. We’re probably going to need to go to Karthspire and the Akaviri Temple there to stop the dragons. I… Marius is the paternal cousin that saved me and he was taken as a Blade serving the Dragonborn. I went to the Dragonborn and it turned out a Grey-Mane had been captured too, so their honour decreed coming to Northwatch Keep. Now we’re trying to hurry and save the last loremaster-“

“A Silver-Blood,” Kaie murmured distastefully.

“He hasn’t been one for sixty years.” Laina rubbed her eyes. “I know I’m leaning a lot on family ties-“

“You don’t lean enough!” Kaie snapped. “You are clan. You rescued Madanach himself. We could have rescued the pair of them with far less… mess. I will owe the Matriarch of Hag’s End to finish the clean-up.”

“Thank you,” Marius told her. “Pass the debt to me. Laina was doing what she thought was right.”

“You have honour,” Kaie conceded. “You were Ondolemar, yes?”

“I was,” Marius admitted. “It seemed like a good idea when Julius Martin, Laina’s great-grandfather, proposed it.”

Kaie smirked. “The Aurelii excel at having good ideas go wrong.”

“I’ll bring back appropriate thank-you gifts when we go to Karthspire, I promise,” Laina said wearily. “Would a few filled grand soul gems soothe the Matriarch of Hag’s End?”

“They’re always welcome.” Kaie squeezed her cousin’s shoulders. “You should come visit Glenmoril. Your grandmother misses you.”

“And I miss her too,” Laina answered.

Kaie studied Farkas. “I hope he’s smarter than he looks if you’re going to marry him. I think his brother would be the better choice, myself.”

“Vilkas would be more inclined to bark up Marius’ tree than mine,” Laina said dryly. “Farkas is smarter than Borkul, at least.”

“Borkul writes poetry.”

“And I play the lute,” Farkas said.

“Well then. You have some taste, I suppose.” Kaie’s smile was a little frosty. “I will see you soon, no doubt. Don’t die, Dragonborn. We like this world.”

Nothing was said until they’d crossed the invisible border into Whiterun.

“Well, that was cordial,” Vilkas noted.

“I should have gone to the Forsworn. Kaie and her people have less… worries… about such things,” Laina sighed. “Farkas, I’m sorry about that. I’m still getting used to the idea of…”

“Family that don’t suck?” Farkas asked ruefully.

Marius sighed. “That’s the polite way of putting it.”

“It was our debt of honour to settle,” Aela said firmly. “I’ll explain that to the Matriarchs when I see them next. They’ll set Kaie straight.”

Skjor suddenly laughed. “You and Marius, Vilkas? Finally, someone whose arrogance and skill matches your own.”

“Shut up!” Vilkas snapped, going puce.

Marius said nothing, instead looking to the east and the sunrise. Perhaps… he had the opportunity for a new life. Perhaps. He would see.


	4. Family Assistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism, torture, imprisonment and war crimes. Posting rate’s going to drop from this week because of university.

“What in the name of Talos happened?” snapped the old, sick man everyone called Kodlak. “Not just Northwatch Keep but the Thalmor Embassy! Just praise be to the gods they’re blaming the Stormcloaks for it. _What were you thinking_?”

“We were fulfilling our debts of honour, old man,” grated Skjor. “Or did you think we should have left Thorald Grey-Mane and Marius Aurelius in the hands of a cruel enemy?”

“No! But…”

“Northwatch Keep was us, but I understand now what my cousin meant by ‘cleaning up our mess’,” Laina observed quietly. “I’ll pay any debts owed to the Forsworn, Harbinger, as it was my actions that set much of this in motion. I’d stay and let you berate me a little more, but I must hurry to rescue the last Blades loremaster from the Thalmor.”

“Go, you three,” ordered Skjor. “We’ll settle things here.”

“You aren’t Harbinger yet, if you’ll ever be,” Kodlak growled. “But yes, Farkas and Vilkas must pursue the path of the prophecy. I just hope that you, Blade, show greater wisdom in the future.”

“Laina has kept her oaths more surely than those other Blades I know of,” Marius said grimly. “Speak to me of honour, Harbinger, when you’ve spent a century and a half fulfilling an oath to a dead man and longer yet as the Eternal Champion and the Master of Sky Haven Temple during the Oblivion Crisis.”

“Your reputation is great and storied, Marius Aurelius, and you will be most welcome in Jorrvaskr,” Kodlak answered with a flush. “But it is my duty to hold the Companions to the right path. Stealth is one thing, but murdering sleeping enemies is another.”

“Laina, Farkas and Vilkas have berated themselves for the entire journey; they have no need of you giving them a tongue-lashing,” Marius countered. “They did what they felt was right.”

He glanced at Laina. “Go. The Harbinger and I need to speak. Give Esbern my regards.”

“Even an elf can have the heart of a Nord,” Vilkas rumbled as they left Jorrvaskr. “Kodlak was right but…”

“There you are!” bellowed a heavy-shouldered man with long grey hair and the leather apron of a smith. “Come-“

“Eorlund, we’re tryin’ ta beat the Thalmor to a Blade who knows lots about Alduin,” Farkas interrupted in a low urgent voice. “We’ll share a cup of mead with ya when we get back, I promise.”

“A Blade?” Eorlund’s mouth tightened. “Let me send Avulstein with you. He’s got contacts in Riften.”

“So do I, and I’m a lot more inconspicuous,” Laina said softly. “How is Thorald?”

“He’ll never fight again but his wits aren’t diminished. You must be Ulfric’s stepdaughter. That makes you extended kin of us.” Eorlund held out his hand and Laina clasped it. “You’ve got more heart than your mother, lass. When you’re next in Whiterun, stop by House Grey-Mane. We owe you a feast.”

“Thanks,” Laina said weakly. “We need to go-“

“May Kynareth grant you the speed of a hawk,” Eorlund said with a bow. “Gods with you three.”

“Not a word,” Laina said softly as they walked towards the gates. “I don’t associate with either side of my family for any number of reasons, including the taint of treason.”

“You’re loyal to the Empire then?” Vilkas asked.

“More resigned to it. If it crumbles, the power vacuum will be exploited by the Thalmor, which absolutely no one wants.” Laina pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s the quickest path to Riften? I’ve never been there.”

…

“Of all the people I expected to seek out my services, the Hero-Twins of Jorrvaskr weren’t two of them,” drawled the infamous Brynjolf.

“I’ll make it quick: the Thalmor have found the man Esbern, who pays you for protection,” Laina said as Vilkas scowled. “He’s the only man in the world who might know how to defeat Alduin World-Eater. Name your price and I’ll pay it. But dally and we’ll be appetisers with the world as the main course and the heroes of Sovngarde as dessert.”

“The Thalmor have been sniffing around the Ratway and Mercer did nothing about,” Brynjolf conceded with a grimace. “They captured one of our people and the Ard Ri’s folk, of all forces, freed him from the Thalmor Embassy.”

“You’re welcome,” Laina said simply. “I arranged that.”

Farkas concealed a grin as the Thief’s eyes widened. “I didn’t expect the Master Alchemist of the College of Winterhold to know the Forsworn, lass.”

“Laina mac Catriona of Lost Valley Clan,” Laina said, rolling back her sleeves to reveal her hawk-feather tattoos. “I have no wish to lean on clan-ties, Bryn mac Gillam, but-“

“Oh, you’ve earned a personal escort through the Ratways,” Brynjolf said, turning to lock up his stall. “You distracted Calcelmo long enough for me to… well. You helped the Guild indirectly and Enthir swears you keep your bargains.”

“I do,” Laina said simply.

“She shoulda been a Companion but the mages got her first,” Farkas said proudly.

“Thanks for gettin’ the Horn,” Farkas said as they went into the Ratways.

“I was paid well for it,” Brynjolf said dismissively.

They went to the Thieves’ pub and then into the worst part of the Ratways where the Thalmor were killing everyone, demanding answers about Esbern. “Bastards,” Brynjolf cursed before whistling. From the shadows came Thieves who turned the elves into fish food.

Esbern was behind a metal door that he wouldn’t open until Laina told him about some story she’d heard as a kid. The loremaster turned out to be a scared old man who could conjure Atronachs in battle.

They made it back to the pub, where it was found out some girl named Sapphire was the Guildmaster. “Companions of Jorrvaskr slumming it at the Ragged Flagon,” she said amusedly. “This is one for the records, surely.”

“Sorry ‘bout the trouble we brought to your doorstep,” Farkas apologised.

“The Thalmor were trespassers.” Sapphire examined her fingers. “Besides, Laina’s father Rustem purchased an insurance policy for her. The Guild makes sure she’s never robbed and, if she should need our help, we give it… within reason, of course.”

“I…” Laina swallowed. “Tell him thank you.”

“Your father’s the Listener, my dear, and he’s brought a lot of coin to the Guild,” Sapphire noted. “Besides, I heard good things from the Bruma Guild about you. Neela-Tai says hello. She’s the new Corvus, I believe.”

“Tell her it’s a long way from the Imperial Workhouse and she owes me a tax break,” Laina said with a smirk. “How’s the itch-scale going?”

“You cured it.” Sapphire smiled slightly. “Until we do business again.”

“I’ve heard of Rustem,” Vilkas said with a sigh as they returned topside. “Good fighter, lousy person.”

“Better person than Sigdrifa Stormsword,” Laina observed.

Vilkas snorted. “Not hard. But don’t worry. Farkas has plenty of honour and he’s even house-trained.”

Farkas rolled his eyes. “One word ‘bout Laina an’ I’m gonna start teasin’ ya about Marius.”

“Fuck you!”

“That’ll have more luck with Marius than me,” Farkas said blandly.

“I wish I hadn’t gotten out of bed this morning,” Esbern grumbled.

“If I have to suffer, so do you,” Laina answered.


	5. Alduin's Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and mentions of war crimes, genocide, torture and imprisonment.

“You’re recovering quicker than we expected,” Skjor observed as he handed Marius a flask of mead.

“The Thalmor hadn’t done much more than soften me up for Elenwen’s visit,” Marius told the Companions’ second-in-command. “I had deceived them so well, for so long, that they wanted to savour my demise with all the fury of purebred Altmer being outfoxed by the half-human son of a despised part-human who embodied everything they loathed.”

He took a swig of mead. “Succinctly, my mother Ralinde was roughly a quarter-Akaviri and a quarter-Tsaesci, and had known the god Talos himself when he was Tiber Septim. It was her and several others from the Four Clans of the Akaviri who transformed the Dragonguard into the Blades. My father was the Grandmaster Jauffre. I am as thin-blooded a mer as who can exist and still call themselves a mer… and that is not a thing the Thalmor love.”

Skjor’s grin was tight. “And you made them look like idiots.”

“That I did.” Marius swallowed some more mead. “I am glad the deception is over, for all I had left was to try and warn the Empire that the Dominion would try again. Now, I must fulfil my oaths as a Blade to face Alduin – not that Farkas isn’t a competent warrior, but…”

“Vilkas is his better with most kinds of weapons – that’s why he’s arms master,” Skjor finished. “But Farkas has more empathy, strength of will and physical endurance than Vilkas.”

Marius nodded, swallowing the last of the mead. “Still waters run deep. I have known a few Dragonborn, Martin Septim in particular… and I am relieved it is Farkas who is the last of them. Kindness is a rare trait in the Dovahkiinne.”

“Martin wasn’t kind?”

“He…” Marius pinched the bridge of his nose. “He was traumatised. He and Aurelia… They were good together in the short term but the reign of Emperor Martin and Empress Aurelia would have been disastrous. They were my friends, and I supported them in my youth and kept their secrets… but two centuries has given me a certain perspective.”

Skjor nodded thoughtfully. “I can well believe that. Farkas isn’t the sharpest sword on the rack, but he’s the steadiest and most reliable. He… It isn’t that he lacks ambition, it’s just that he’s content with his life and sees little point in wanting more. Vilkas, on the other hand, is too tumultuous and glory-hungry for his own good.”

“In the love languages of the Divines, Farkas would be Mara and Vilkas Dibella,” Marius observed.

“That’s an excellent way to put it.” Skjor smiled slightly. “Either way, Alduin’s going to get his arse kicked.”

“That he is,” Marius said quietly. “That he is.”

…

“I wish you’d brought Delphine,” complained Esbern as they approached Karthspire Redoubt. “I don’t trust these heathens.”

“They’re not overly fond of you as a Silver-Blood, but if they can put aside their hatred of your clan to tolerate you, you can damned well shut your mouth about them,” Vilkas retorted, rolling his eyes. Loremaster or not, the man was insufferable.

Laina bared her forearms and crossed her wrists with fists clenched in the Reach sign for truce. The woman’s connections were proving more useful than Vilkas expected and he was honest enough to appreciate them doing most of the dirty work. Kodlak would chide him for countenancing dishonour in his allies but… the old man hadn’t left Jorrvaskr in twenty years. His concept of honour had become purified and idealised at the cost of pragmatism.

One of the Hagravens, tall and lean for one of her ilk, strode over and gave her a rib-cracking embrace. “I thought you were at the College!” she croaked.

Laina returned it. “I am. Alduin’s return has put my academic career to the side for the moment. What brings you to Karthspire, Granma?”

“Couldn’t resist seeing the inside of this Akaviri Temple none of our people have been able to crack for eons,” the Hagraven answered with a toothy grin. “Is this Dragonborn Talos again?”

“No. I ain’t Talos an’ I ain’t Ysgramor either,” Farkas told her honestly. “Got no problems with the Forsworn if they have no problems with me.”

“You haven’t done us much harm… and well, those you killed were the enemies of the Ard Ri, so good riddance to them,” the Hag replied. “Glenmoril’s always had a good relationship with the Jorrvaskr pack.”

“Even if some of ‘em wanna be cured?” Farkas asked softly.

“Hircine keeps no hound that won’t hunt, but you’ll have to earn the cure,” the Hag answered bluntly. “There’s a renegade werewolf in Falkreath named Sinding, one who stole from the Horned Lord. Hunt the sacred white stag and learn more of our Prince’s will. That is… all I’m permitted to tell you.”

“It’s more than you had,” Laina noted.

Vilkas sighed. He wanted some kind of potion to banish his curse, not another hunt in the name of the Daedric Prince of the Hunt! But… it made sense. Nothing worthy came easy.

“Pardon the lack of introductions,” the sorceress continued. “Farkas, Vilkas, Esbern, this is my grandmother Catriona, Matriarch of Glenmoril Coven. Granma, these are the Hero-Twins Farkas and Vilkas, and Esbern of the Blades.”

“A pleasure to meet you all… Even Esbern, I suppose,” Catriona answered with a slight nod. “Come, let us examine this Temple together. I may be able to assist with translation from our own legends of the Akaviri’s occupation of this valley.”

It didn’t take much to gain access to Sky Haven Temple and even Esbern’s dry lecturing was worth hearing for the knowledge he kept. Alduin’s Wall had the answers, it seemed… but for the fact it didn’t record _which_ Shout Farkas needed to know.

“I think it might be a Shout called Dragonrend,” Laina said softly. “It was a Shout so horrible that even Paarthurnax shuddered to hear it.”

“The Greybeards will know of it… unless ya know the words?” Farkas asked the sorceress.

“I know exactly two Words,” Laina said wryly. “One that makes my strikes quicker and another that calls storms. I use neither lightly.”

“’Speak only in true need’,” Vilkas quoted and Laina inclined her head.

“Exactly. The Thu’um… is hard to use. For me, at least, and one of my ancestors was a Dragonborn. The Greybeards are correct when they say that for ordinary mortals, it is too dangerous a power to use for… mundane reasons.”

“I trust ya,” Farkas said simply. “So we go annoy the Greybeards for the Words?”

“Speaking of the Greybeards, we must decide what to do about Paarthurnax,” Esbern said grimly.

“No.” Laina’s tone was flat. “We aren’t pissing off the Greybeards.”

“He’s committed atrocities!”

“And so did you at Falinesti. I murdered mer by stealth at Northwatch Keep and set in motion the destruction of the Thalmor Embassy.” Laina folded her arms. “You want to be like Delphine, stewing in her grudges? I’ll give you the directions to Riverwood.”

“Delphine’s alive?”

“Yes, and tried to manipulate the Dragonborn by stealing the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.”

“I’m killing no dragon that hasn’t attacked me,” Farkas said firmly. “Got it?”

“As you command… Dragonborn.” Esbern bobbed a stiff bow. “With your permission, I will examine the archives here. I don’t know how long the Forsworn will tolerate our presence.”

“My granddaughter, her mate and his brother? As long as they want to stay.” Catriona’s smile was fierce. “You? As long as you keep your mouth shut, Silver-Blood.”

“Of course… Matriarch.” Esbern bowed again. “If you don’t mind me saying, I’d have become a Hagraven rather than staying married to Dengeir myself. The man’s certifiable.”

Catriona smiled. “Maybe there’s some hope for you yet.”

Vilkas smirked as he followed Esbern and Laina to the books. The history in there would be worth listening to the old man’s tiresome lectures.


	6. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism, torture, child abuse and imprisonment.

“I’m not Colette Marance, but I’ve enough Restoration to break down the scar tissue for a little more range of movement,” Laina said as Thorald, wearing nothing but a loincloth, laid awkwardly down on the bed. “You’ll never fight again, not unless you feel like going to Sovngarde – and given Alduin’s flying around, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Those old sagas are true?” Eorlund asked in some alarm from his seat.

“If they’re the ones singing of Alduin snacking on the souls of heroes as hors d’oeuvres, then yes, they are,” Laina confirmed, calling magicka to her hands. “I have a Nord friend who went to Sovngarde. I can only hope he got to the Hall of Valour in time.”

The Grey-Manes were silent as she kneaded Thorald’s scarred muscles, loosening scar tissue with Restoration and Alteration. Weeks of torment under the Thalmor’s hands had taught the Stormcloak to suffer in silence and so she ignored his stony expression to honour that experience.

“There. Danica should be able to finish the rest, assuming she’s half as skilled as rumour claims.” Laina wiped her hands on a rag handed to her by Fralia. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“You’ve done more than your mother ever did,” Vignar said gruffly. “You can call Clan Grey-Mane friend.”

“Thank you.” Laina adjusted her robes. “I’d keep your head low if I were you, Thorald. There’s still roaming Justicars around.”

“I’m going to apprentice to Aunty Tilma at Jorrvaskr,” Thorald said quietly. “She’s getting on and… there is honour in being Master of Jorrvaskr.”

“I’ll need to return to Windhelm,” Avulstein said with a sigh. “Ulfric needs to know what’s going on.”

Laina shook her head. “Is a god really worth dying for? Talos was honestly a prick as Emperor. As a god, his servants were somewhat worse.”

“I don’t much hold with someone telling me what to do, but better a kinsman than some Emperor who sold out the army who saved his bacon at Red Ring Road to keep his Cyrod arse on the throne,” Avulstein answered bluntly. “I… don’t blame you for your feelings, Laina. Sigdrifa was…”

“As a mother, Sigdrifa was a great Shieldmaiden,” Thorald grunted as he sat up. “Bjarni and Egil are decent boys thanks to Galmar and Ralof, not her.”

“They’re going to get themselves killed. I don’t _like_ the Empire, but it’s so much better than the Dominion.” Laina sighed. “Torygg was my friend and Ulfric butchered him in an unfair duel. My mother knew the life I was building for myself and went ahead with her bloody plans anyway. That isn’t a thing I can forgive. I have more sympathy for the Forsworn than her.”

“I won’t tell her that,” Avulstein said soberly. “She’d consider you a traitor and try to take measures.”

“If she is actually stupid enough to try it, tell her my father is the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, my granduncle is Madanach of the Reach and when it comes to my own survival, I don’t give a flying _fuck_ about blood-ties because she left me to die in Cyrodiil,” Laina warned grimly. “I won’t come for Egil or Bjarni. I’ll come for _her_. And I wager I’m a better sorceress than she is a warrior.”

Avulstein nodded. “I’ll pass it on. If she tries anything… Well, the Grey-Manes will stand by you. You’re family, Laina.”

“You can include Marius in that too,” Vignar added. “Mer’s a decent warrior with more honour in his left toe than in Sigdrifa’s body.”

“I… thanks.” Laina rubbed her hands awkwardly. “I… better get back to Jorrvaskr.”

“Give Farkas a kiss on the cheek from us. He’s a dear,” Fralia said sweetly.

Laina fled.

…

“Marius has promised to help me with finding a cure,” Vilkas said after downing half the bottle of mead.

Farkas grinned at his brother. “Ya and the handsome golden hero wanderin’ around the woods together. Ya gonna sleep-walk inta his bedroll?”

Vilkas scowled at Farkas. “You and Laina gonna keep yourselves warm on that big mountain?”

“She’ll come to my bed when she wants to,” Farkas said mildly, drinking some mead. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’m waiting to be cured,” Vilkas said quietly. “I want to be with Marius, if it happens, because it’s me and not the bonding urge.”

“Good reason. Sorry for teasin’ ya.” Farkas gave his brother a quick hug. “I’ll worry ‘bout this cure when it’s over. Alduin’s kinda more important an’ might be the beast blood will be useful.”

“I understand.” Vilkas returned the hug. “When you have the Shout to defeat Alduin, let me know. Can’t let you have all the fun of killing him on your own.”

Farkas laughed. “Gonna mount his head at Jorrvaskr’s doors.”

Laina was talking to Marius in the whelps’ quarters. The mer had taken to living in a dorm relatively well, though Farkas could tell he was itching to get on with things and become a Companion. Kodlak had taken being told off by him pretty well, which made Farkas wonder if Kodlak had seen the mer’s coming.

“Your mother won’t take it well, but to be honest, I couldn’t give two shits about what the Stormsword takes well or not,” Marius was saying. “If she is so stupid, you’ll need to carry through.”

“She whipped Ulfric into a killing frenzy. Torygg was my friend and patron.” Laina sighed. “Mind you, I don’t think she’ll be so stupid as to send the Dark Brotherhood, given who runs them these days.”

Marius gave a low evil chuckle. “I’d have given much to see her expression when she got the news.”

Laina laughed. “As would I.”

Farkas cleared his throat. “What’d you do now?”

“Told Avulstein to tell my mother that if she goes after me, I’ll come for her,” Laina answered, rubbing her nose. “I fight dirty and… well, if it comes to survival, I’m her daughter.”

“Only with your enemies – and Sigdrifa is most definitely an enemy,” Marius corrected, rising to his feet. “You are loyal to those you care for.”

“Thanks to you and Granma.” Laina paused. “Did you…?”

“I’m using the salve with gratitude,” Marius said warmly. “Catriona and I always understood each other when we all lived in Bruma.”

He turned to Farkas. “Dragonborn… I just want you to know you’re the most worthy of the title I’ve ever met, and that includes Martin Septim. But if you break my cousin’s heart… I’ll break your damn neck.”

“Marius!” Laina exclaimed.

“I’m just warning him of the consequences,” Marius said with a smirk.

“Don’t worry. You break Vilkas’ heart, I’ll eat yours.” Farkas grinned at the mer.

“I’m glad we understand each other.”


	7. Happy Hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, corpse desecration and mentions of cannibalism. Passing mention of one of my more… interesting… OCs.

“My cousin’s hunting Alduin and we’re hunting a rogue werewolf in the name of Hircine. I’m not sure who’s having the most fun.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes. None of the stories mentioned Marius’ slightly warped sense of humour. The mer was in much better shape two weeks after his rescue from Northwatch Keep and seemed to be glad to get out of Jorrvaskr for a few days. “I bet it’s not as exciting as the Oblivion Crisis,” he observed.

“That was periods of boredom punctuated with moments of pants-shitting terror,” Marius answered with a sigh. “My father had taken over as Grandmaster from me – a job I never got back because Baurus was chosen afterwards, then we had a couple morons, and then Julius Martin – and I was left as Master of Cloud Ruler Temple until Julius Martin’s wife died and I was activated to replace Ondolemar, the Thalmor who did it. But during the Crisis, it was me, Aurelia, Martin and Sidgara handling things while Father, Mother and the senior Blades tried to play politics.”

“Doesn’t that sound familiar?” Vilkas asked sarcastically.

Marius smiled wryly. “You will need to call some kind of truce between the Stormcloaks and Legion because every Nord who dies heroically feeds Alduin’s power. But otherwise… Farkas’ neutrality as a Companion helps but Laina’s sheer refusal to take shit from anyone makes this situation different. If _she’d_ been the Dragonborn Heir during the Oblivion Crisis, Mehrunes Dagon would have slunk back to Oblivion and the Thalmor would have been nipped in the bud.”

Vilkas had to laugh at that. “She won’t rule the roost. Farkas is no pushover.”

“I’ve noticed that. Farkas is earth and Laina is the storm. They’re a good match.” Marius peered through the trees. “I believe we’re close to Falkreath-town.”

They were and it didn’t take long for the local farmer Mathies to approve them, asking if they were Companions, which Vilkas confirmed. “Thank the Eight!” he said fervently. “There’s a werewolf in the prison. He ate my baby!”

“That’s why we’re here,” Marius assured the man gently. “I’m Marius Aurelius and that’s Vilkas of the Hero-Twins.”

At the sound of ‘Aurelius’, the entire pub went silent, and a florid-faced, balding man struggled to his feet. “Fucking Aurelii-“

_Fucking Dengeir,_ Vilkas thought sardonically.

“Thane Dengeir, I think we can both concur that Rustem was an embarrassment as a cousin and a husband,” Marius interrupted mildly. “I’ve met the man once and I wanted to stab him.”

A brown-haired man with the Kreathling Jarls’ blue-green eyes laughed shortly. “Your acumen is legendary, Marius of the Blades. But is it wise to be so…?”

“Openly here? There were only ever three or four Altmer Aurelii, and I’m the last of them.” Marius shrugged. “I don’t know if you got the good news, but someone firebombed Northwatch Keep and the Thalmor Embassy.”

“Doing the gods’ work right there,” the brown-haired man said with relish.

“Now I’m with the Companions and am helping to sort out your werewolf problem,” Marius continued as Dengeir went puce. “I don’t care about politics. So whatever grudges you may have with Rustem, leave me out of it.”

Vilkas rose to his feet. “Where’s the prison?”

Sinding told them his sorry tale, forced a silver ring on Vilkas, and then escaped. “He’ll go to Bloated Man Grotto,” Vilkas muttered. “We should go there.”

“We should hunt that white stag he mentioned,” Marius said soberly. “Hircine is… well, he’s not kindly, but he’s well-disposed to those who respect him. You want the cure, you need to be polite.”

Vilkas allowed himself a curse. “We better get going. I can feel the beast blood stirring.”

…

The white stag led them a merry chase, Vilkas shifting twice, and they’d just brought him down when Hircine spoke through the beast’s spirit. “Well done,” the Prince of the Hunt crooned. “Go to Bloated Man Grotto and hunt Sinding. There will be others seeking my favour.”

“You always did enjoy giving everyone a sporting chance,” Marius noted.

“Marius Aurelius! Aurelia told me you’d survived. The shard of the Razor is well-kept so far.” Hircine’s tone turned musing. “You’d make a good werewolf, you know.”

“I appreciate the offer but most of my friends are in Heaven’s Reach Temple and I would go there when I die,” Marius told the Daedric Prince. “As for Vilkas and Kodlak-“

“Vilkas must earn his freedom.” Hircine’s voice was as iron. “Kodlak… We’ll see.”

“He desires Sovngarde,” Vilkas said quietly.

“Is that why he clings to life, sickly and failing? I think he’s more of a coward, not wanting to pay the piper now the dance is done. But we shall see, Vilkas. Farkas is beyond my touch, though he bears the beast blood still. I’ll not argue with Akatosh and Shor, for dragons make poor hunters and poorer prey, for the blood and flesh burn away.” Hircine sighed. “He can keep the blood if he wants. He’ll have earned it.”

“My thanks,” Marius said with a bow.

“Thank me if you survive the hunt for Sinding.”

As Hircine warned, there were other hunters, most of whom greeted Vilkas and Marius jovially enough. “Mead?” asked one, offering a flask.

“I wouldn’t drink it. It’ll give you the running shits,” advised a Nord woman with an undercut with a long ponytail and Bosmer colouring.

“Ysraneth!” protested the mead-giver.

“Sporting chance. Makes it more fun,” laughed Ysraneth. “I bags the Altmer. I like ‘em with garlic and wild honey.”

“I’m a Blade. Or I was,” Marius said quickly. He knew _exactly_ who Ysraneth was. Whether or not she was a cannibal depended on whether you defined it as eating sentient creatures of other races or only those of your own. She never ate Nords or Bosmer, but Altmer were fair game (literally).

Ysraneth laughed wickedly. “And you survived the Thalmor. Tell ya what, we take on Sinding ourselves, then divide the spoils. I’m here because the bastard ate a baby and it’s always good to be on Hircine’s good side as a hunter.”

“We can do that,” Vilkas said quietly.

They set off deeper into the grotto, Ysraneth leading them to a shrine of Talos at which a skeleton in tattered Akaviri robes with an Oathblade by its side rested. “Acilius Bolar,” Marius said sadly. “He was the katana master of Cloud Ruler.”

“I thought you’d want the weapon,” Ysraneth said quietly.

“I will take it, thank you.” It was good to be armed with a dai-katana once more, in particular one of the legendary Oathblades. “Let us begin our hunt.”

Sinding might have been a good werewolf but he was nothing compared to one of the best hunters in Tamriel, a former Blade and a man with a werewolf’s nose. They cornered him in the deepest recess of the grotto as he begged for his life and a chance to hunt the hunters instead, pleas that were silenced by Ysraneth’s mighty Nordic bow.

“Nice shot,” Vilkas said admiringly. “You should train with Aela.”

“I have. It was a nice fling but she was already keen on Skjor.” Ysraneth drew her knife. “So, who’s skinning?”

“I will,” Vilkas said with a grimace. “I want to be cured of my lycanthropy.”

Once the gruesome work was done, Hircine appeared in his stag-headed man form. “Well done,” he approved. “You have earned my favour. Vilkas… the ring is yours. Granted freely, it will give you utter control of the beast blood and show to the Glenmoril coven you’ve earned the cure. That was Sinding’s sin, you see – he wanted to have his cake and eat it too.”

“Thank you,” Vilkas said soberly.

“Ysraneth, for your masterful archery, you have earned the Saviour’s Hide.” Sinding’s pelt was turned into a set of armour with a werewolf’s snarling face. “There’s always a place in my pack if you want it.”

“We’ll see,” Ysraneth said noncommittally.

“Marius… Well, you have a katana again since you’ve been a good sport about this.” Hircine sounded more amused than anything else. “Tell Aurelia I said hello. We haven’t hunted together for a while.”

“If I see her, I shall,” Marius promised.

“Happy hunting!” Then Hircine was gone.

“So, how many Daedric Princes are you on chatty terms with?” Vilkas asked as he put on the silver ring.

“Well, the Madgoddess aspect of Sheogorath is my friend – and Laina’s great-great-grandmother, incidentally. Malacath and I have always been civil, much the same with Hircine. Mehrunes Dagon, Molag Bal and Namira aren’t too fond of me since I’ve spiked their wheels in the Oblivion Crisis and during my stint in Markarth.” Marius shrugged. “The Aurelii are blessed – or cursed – by the attention of the wicked and divine alike.”

“Hell of a wedding guest list,” Ysraneth drawled. “Are there any Thalmor left in Skyrim? I hear the Stormcloaks blew up a bunch.”

“A few roving patrols, one trying to subvert the Skaal in Solstheim…” Marius grinned at her. “Try the shrine of Talos in the Pale.”

“I know the one.” Ysraneth bundled up Saviour’s Hide and grinned. “Happy hunting, you two.”

“To you as well.”


	8. The Throat of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism and war crimes.

“Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniikke. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah... my mountain?”

The dragon was old, grey and battered, his voice like the rumble of Red Mountain, but his eyes were still bright.

“You're the master of the Greybeards?” Farkas asked quietly. Beside him, Laina was tense, her fingers twitching. _Bruniikke,_ the dragons had called the Akaviri – savages. Guess the old dragon-killing blood was still pretty strong in Laina, though she had the will not to throw lightning at Paarthurnax.

“They see me as master. Wuth. Onik. Old and wise. It is true I am old...” Paarthurnax sighed gustily, blowing back their hair and cloaks. “Forgive me. It has been long since I held tinvaak with a stranger. I gave in to the temptation to prolong our speech.”

“Sitting on a mountain for a few thousand years with only a group of crusty old monks would certainly dampen your conversational opportunities,” Laina observed with a ghost of amusement.

“Evenaar Bahlok. There are many hungers it is better to deny than to feed. Dreh ni nahkip. Discipline against the lesser aids in qahnaar... denial of the greater,” Paarthurnax answered. “Though these are perhaps the politest words ever shared between dragon and Bruniik… Akaviri.”

“I need ta learn the Dragonrend Shout,” Farkas said awkwardly.

“Drem. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov.” Paarthurnax shifted. “By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin! Yol...Toor...Shul! A gift, Dovahkiin. Yol. Understand Fire as the dov do.”

That was how Farkas learned the second Word of the fire Shout.

“Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!” Paarthurnax basked in the stream of fire that Farkas released with the Shout. “Aaah... yes! Sossedov los mul. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind.”

“Do you two want a moment?” Laina asked. “I feel slightly awkward here.”

“I’m Farkas, that’s my woman Laina. Don’t worry, she only throws lightnin’ at rude dragons,” Farkas assured Paarthurnax, jerking his thumb at the mage. “Ya know, the ones tryin’ ta kill us.”

“Drem Yol Lok, Kah-Lah-Nah. Pride-Magicka-Fury. You are Dovahsos too, yet not Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax mused.

“The amount of people I’d Shout to Oblivion is a bit too high for Akatosh to contemplate,” Laina said dryly. “Drem Yol Lok, Paarthurnax.”

“Ya not supposed ta scare him like that,” Farkas grumbled. “Can ya help me with Dragonrend?”

“Ah. I have expected you. Prodah. You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin.” Paarthurnax sighed again. “Alduin komeyt tiid. What else would you seek? Alduin and Dovahkiin return together. But I do not know the Thu'um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me. Your kind - joorre - mortals - created it as a weapon against the dov… the dragons. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot even… comprehend its concepts.”

“Some of my research states the Shout has something to do with the idea of mortality,” Laina observed softly.

“Yes,: Paarthurnax confirmed. “First, I have a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu'um?”

“Because Alduin wants ta end the world and I kinda like it as it is,” Farkas answered.

“Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?”

Laina folded her arms. “If Akatosh sought to allow the birth of the next world, he wouldn’t have given Farkas the dragon blood.”

“Paaz. A fair answer. Ro fus... maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end... Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer.” Paarthurnax sighed again. “But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven – what you name Throat of the World?”

“It’s a mountain?” Farkas asked tentatively.

“Because it was here the Three Tongues threw down Alduin,” Laina told the dragon.

“This is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim. Zok revak strunmah. The great mountain of the world. Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the Voice, Brought Alduin to battle and defeated him. As you said, Kah-Lah-Nah.” Paarthurnax studied a distortion in the air. “Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to... defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel – the Elder Scroll. They used it to... cast him adrift on the currents of Time.”

“Son of a bitch,” Laina swore. “Those don’t exactly grow on trees.”

“Are you sayin’ they sent Alduin forward in time?” Farkas asked anxiously.

“Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. Meyye. I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when.”

“Okay, so what does an Elder Scroll got to do with things?” Farkas asked the dragon. This was all getting confusing for him. Thank the gods Laina seemed to be following Paarthurnax.

“Tiid krent. Time was... shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel, that Elder Scroll back here... to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound... With the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time, you may be able to... cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it.”

“Which, given the effects that an Elder Scroll has on temporal stability and perception, is going to be a beacon to every dragon in Skyrim that something big’s going on,” Laina said grimly. “There’s no other way?”

“Niid. You must consult with your fellow mages. It is said Winterhold has many secrets.” Paarthurnax laid his chin on the ground. “You must hurry if you would save this world.”

“We will,” Farkas promised.


	9. Acting Harbinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism. I’ve deleted ‘The One That Wins’ because Aina was merging with Sica, and I can’t write a ruthless, self-centred character in a sustained manner. So I’ll just focus on ‘Doom-Driven’ for now.

“Marius!” Catriona embraced him with a rib-cracking hug, one that the Altmer gladly returned. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” Marius said warmly to the Hagraven. “A long way and a long time from Bruma.”

“Indeed.” The Matriarch of Glenmoril stepped away. “Welcome to Glenmoril.”

“Thank you.” Vilkas offered his hand, the one with the silver ring on it. “I’ve come for a cure.”

“Yes, one of our folk told us of the hunt. Bloated Man Grotto is one of our sacred places.” Catriona took the hand and took it. “Give me a few hours to make a Scroll of the Wolf Ender. The other ritual is… well, it’s disgusting.”

“The Rite of the Wolf Giver?” Marius guessed as she led them deeper into the cave complex where the coven lived. Around them, Forsworn and Hagravens bustled about, talking in the lilting language he’d only ever learned a few words of.

“Yes. We’ve been consulting with that priest of Tu’whacca in Morthal about changing it a little, but I dislike anything that involves the murder of innocents.” Catriona sighed. “There are those who would say I fail as a priestess of Hircine.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Marius said succinctly.

“No, thank you. I have standards.”

“What about Kodlak?” Vilkas asked as she led them into her personal space.

“Canis root, skeever charcoal and mudcrab chitin thrown on the Flame of the Harbinger,” Catriona said dismissively. “You’ll have to kill the wolf-spirit.”

“Can’t you make another scroll for him?”

Marius was already shaking his head. “Kodlak must earn his own cure, Vilkas. Hircine deserves that much respect.”

“You understand,” Catriona said quietly. “Take a seat and Kaie will bring you some breakfast.”

Kaie was a lithe Breton woman with a crest of brown hair braided in a tail down her back. “I normally see Companions of Jorrvaskr trying to wipe out Forsworn camps,” she noted as she delivered flatbread, goat’s cheese and juniper preserves. “You know, us being heathen brigands and all.”

“That’s changed,” Vilkas said shortly.

“Ondolemar,” Kaie greeted, eyebrows rising.

“Marius Aurelius. Cousin to your cousin Laina South-Wind,” Marius corrected. “I, ah, did have an incident…”

Kaie winced. “Eola brought it on herself. Plenty of Silver-Blood mercenaries to chow down on, but no, she had to go for the priest of Arkay. It could have been worse. It could have been Irkand.”

Vilkas winced. “He lives up to the name of Death’s Blade. He’s friends with Skjor.”

“Yeah. He’s worse than a Vigilant sometimes.” Kaie took a seat at the table. “Things will change in the Reach. I only ask you give us a few years to sort things out.”

“So long as you don’t slaughter innocents, we’re good,” Vilkas assured her.

They spoke of the history between Forsworn and Companion until Catriona returned with the scroll, handing it to Vilkas with a nod. He read it and Marius could see the gleam of ferocity die in his iron-grey eyes.

“My mind…” he whispered. “It’s clear. My bones don’t ache, I…”

For the first time, Marius saw Vilkas wipe tears from his eyes.

“Thank you,” the Companion said simply to Catriona.

The Hagraven smiled. “You earned it. Go in peace, Companion, and be a fit mate for my friend Marius.”

Marius found himself smiling. “Thank you, Catriona. If you need my sword, just ask.”

“Don’t tell me that. I’d get you to kill Dengeir,” Catriona drawled. “Go with the gods, Marius, and teach these Companions about honour and endurance.”

…

They returned to a Jorrvaskr in chaos and a dead Harbinger.

“Fucking Silver Hand!” Skjor spat in rage. “They waited until half our strength was gone and attacked.”

“We must retaliate,” Vilkas said grimly. “I had a cure for Kodlak-“

“The canis root mixture?” Aela asked. “That… can still be used.”

“You’ve always known about the cure?” Marius questioned the Huntress.

“Of course.” She held up a hand to forestall Vilkas’ wrath. “Kodlak was obsessed with purging us all of the wolf-blood, whether we wanted it or not. If he’d wanted the cure just for himself, I would have shared it gladly and assisted him in being cured.”

Marius looked around Jorrvaskr, seeing everyone wandering around aimlessly. “Who will be Harbinger?”

“We can’t decide until Farkas returns,” Skjor said with a sigh.

“Yes, we can,” Aela said firmly. “There’s only one of us with leadership capacity – and it isn’t you, me, Vilkas or even Farkas. Kodlak even foretold his coming in his diary.”

“You read Kodlak’s diary?” Vilkas demanded.

“Yes!” Aela retorted. “He knew that Marius would come and help free him from the beast blood. Why do you think he accepted his chiding? Because he knew Marius would lead him back to the path of honour.”

“Wait, you want _me_ as Harbinger?” Marius blurted. “I’m an _Altmer_ -“

“Even an elf can have the heart of a Nord. It is one of our oldest proverbs,” Skjor said gravely. “To be honest… the other option is Farkas and he’s a little preoccupied at the moment.”

“Until I’m confirmed by all the Circle, I’ll be acting Harbinger,” Marius said after taking a deep breath. “I assume you can track the Silver Hand?”

“Of course,” Aela said, sounding offended. “They’re probably based somewhere in the Pale or Winterhold.”

“Then you, Skjor and Athis track them. _Don’t_ engage until Vilkas and I return from… wherever the Flame of the Harbinger is. I must believe Farkas will prevail and return with Laina at his side.” Marius turned and glanced in the direction of High Hrothgar. “Should we burn Kodlak before or after?”

“After, when we are all here to mourn him,” Aela said softly. “The Flame is located at Ysgramor’s Tomb. Every member of the Circle knows where to find it.”

“Good.” Marius sighed. “May the Nine watch over us all… for we shall surely need their blessings in the coming days.”

Then thunder cracked overhead and he realised that the coming days were already here.


	10. Elder Knowledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, grief and corpse desecration.

Urag rolled his eyes. “If I had an Elder Scroll, do you think I’d lend it even to you, Laina?”

“Suit yourself. I’ll make sure you go down the World-Eater’s throat before me,” Laina retorted with a sigh. “We only need an Elder Scroll to breach a time-wound to learn the Shout to defeat Alduin.”

“Could be worse,” Urag drawled. “You could be plunging into the depths of Oblivion to punch Dremora in the face.”

“That was my great-great-grandma’s schtick, not mine.”

The Orc gave an ugly laugh. “No, you’d fry them with lightning. Let me check my books. I know Septimus wrote a few things about the Elder Scrolls before he moved up north to commune with Hermaeus-Mora.”

He left his post, puttering around the bookcases, and Farkas shook his head bemusedly.

“If there’s anything to know, Urag will find it. Between the Bards College and the Ysmir Collective, I tripled my knowledge of dragonlore and the early Dragon Cult, and that was after being considered Tamriel’s expert on it,” Laina assured him. “After travelling with you, my academic credentials will be unchallenged – in this field, at least.”

Farkas nodded. “You got the brains. I trust ya.”

It was a strange thing to be wholly trusted. Laina had lived with the distrust of those around her all of her life simply for the sins of her parents. But Farkas trusted readily and when he trusted, he gave his whole trust. She resolved never to betray it.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “When this is over, we won’t need to run around so much.”

Farkas chewed his lip. “We gotta worry about Alduin first. But I got duties to Jorrvaskr an’ you got duties here.”

“I know,” she murmured. “But tomorrow’s worries to tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Agreed.”

Urag returned and of course, Septimus’ writings were as impenetrable as the Scrolls themselves. “He has an outpost at the northern edge of the Pale’s ice floes,” the librarian told her. “He’s… crazy. And touched by Hermaeus-Mora. Be careful, Laina.”

The scholar was everything Urag warned and more but he was able to provide directions to a Dwemer ruin that could contain what they needed in the Pale. Laina and Farkas battled their way through Alftand, following in the footsteps of a doomed expedition, and almost got caught up in a fight by the expedition’s two leaders. **_“STOP,”_** Laina ordered, reinforcing it with a Calm spell.

It worked on the Redguard woman but not the Colovian man, who launched himself at Farkas and got himself cut in two for his troubles.

“You saved my life,” the Redguard said gratefully. “I’m Umana. Take what you want from the treasure, there’s plenty for us all.”

“I read the journals,” Laina said quietly. “One of the Khajiit brothers was sugar-addled and the Falmer got most of your friends.”

“I know,” Umana said with a sigh. “I…”

She shook her head. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. How did you get through, or did you lose friends too?”

“Farkas is a senior Companion of Jorrvaskr and I’m the Alchemy Master at the College of Winterhold,” Laina told her. “Laina South-Wind.”

“I read your book on Dragon Cult ruins in Bruma!” Umana said eagerly. “I wanted to try a Nordic ruin, but Sulla thought a Dwemer ruin would be better as we wouldn’t be desecrating graves.”

“We need to find something,” Laina said, fitting the device Septimus gave them to the hole it matched. “You can grab what you want or come with us and get an escort back to Dawnstar.”

They ventured into a vast underground cavern Umana identified as Blackreach, encountering Dwemer automatons, more Falmer and a few other critters. Glowing geodes provided empty soul gems, rare fungi grew in profusion and there was even a dragon when one of Farkas’ Shouts struck an orange-gold orb in the centre of the place. Umana was a highly competent warrior, so the dragon didn’t last long.

Laina chose to leave the lexicon behind as she wasn’t minded to fulfil whatever task Septimus wanted of her; she knew well the perils of the Woodland Man and his wiles. She loved knowledge, but not above all things, and Herma-Mora always sucked the souls of his servants clean like marrow from the bone.

They got to Dawnstar just after nightfall and overnighted there. Umana opted to return to Jorrvaskr with them, lacking anything else to do, and they headed south along the great trade road.

They returned to tragedy and chaos, most of the Circle gone to Ysgramor’s Tomb or seeking vengeance for Kodlak’s killers. Lacking any other option, they stayed and helped prepare for the Harbinger’s funeral. Laina used her knowledge of Alteration to halt the decay of the body and then all they could do was wait. Farkas could hardly rush to High Hrothgar when the funeral of his father-figure was being arranged.

Vignar found them sitting by the fire-pit, mugs of mead in their hands, and joined them.

“The Circle decided on Marius as Harbinger,” the old man said without preamble. “He’s a proven leader and none can doubt his honour for the brief time he was here.”

Laina pursed her lips. He’d make a great Harbinger but- “Will there be any issue about him being a mer? He’s more or less mostly human, if that helps. His mother was roughly a quarter-Akaviri and a quarter-Cyrod, and his own father was a Breton.”

“He was a Blade who served Talos. No one in the Companions will argue… and those outside can go fuck ‘emselves,” Vignar said after a pull from his flagon. “I’m more worried about the civil war.”

“Maybe the fanatics will just kill each other and leave the rest of alone,” Laina said with a sigh. “Jorrvaskr may need to arrange a truce – you’re in the Circle, so I think I can trust you with the knowledge that every heroic Nord death only feeds Alduin’s strength. We have the key to learning the Shout that laid him low, but…”

“Yes, Marius told me. I took the liberty of sending messages. Ulfric knows the Greybeard lore and he’ll override the Stormsword. Ria tells me the Imperials will play nice.” Vignar grimaced. “We’re going to need Farkas to lead the discussion. He’s the Dragonborn.”

Farkas looked up from his mug. “I’m no diplomat.”

“My boy, it’s going to be a matter of shouting these idiots down until they behave,” Vignar said dryly.

“Failing that, I can cast Muffle on any offending parties,” Laina offered gently. “I used to do it at Torygg’s court.”

Farkas gave her a troubled glance. “Laina, will Alduin eat Kodlak’s soul?”

Laina closed her eyes. “I don’t know. I can only hope he’s got the sense to stay out of the mists. But we need to stop the flow of souls to Sovngarde before we confront Alduin with the Elder Scroll.”

The Dragonborn’s expression crumpled like a child’s and Laina gathered him into her arms. Kodlak’s only wish had been to reach Sovngarde. Now his wish might be his doom.

_Damn the pride of warlords and politicians,_ she thought bitterly. _Damn them all to Oblivion._


	11. Glory to the Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death and violence. I’m playing with the storyline a bit because I can’t believe the Companions didn’t have a backdoor to Ysgramor’s tomb for all the years Wuuthrad was broken.

“Greetings, Shield-Brother.”

Kodlak was ghostly but otherwise intact, much to Marius’ relief. “You’re here. What with Alduin about…”

“I shelter by the Flame of the Harbingers,” the old man said with a smile. “I see them all. The ones in Sovngarde. The ones trapped with me in Hircine's realm. And they all see you. You've brought honour to the name of the Companions. We won't soon forget it.”

“We have a cure from the witches of Glenmoril,” Vilkas said, producing the vial.

The Harbinger frowned. “You should have brought their heads.”

“Given that the Matriarch is a dear friend of mine and the grandmother of Farkas’ beloved Laina, that would have been most discourteous,” Marius chided. “This will work, but we must banish your wolf spirit.”

Kodlak stepped back. “You call a Hagraven friend?”

“Given that one of my friends became a Daedric Prince and another an Avatar of Akatosh, not to mention the fact I’ve wielded Mehrunes’ Razor _and_ the Ebony Blade, I tend not to judge my allies’ religious affiliations overmuch,” Marius said dryly. “We have come to free you, Kodlak. Don’t look the gift cure in the mouth.”

Vilkas poured the vial over the Flame, producing an ugly smoke that reeked, and Kodlak was paralysed as his wolf-spirit appeared. Marius’ sword flashed downward in the stroke, bisecting the spirit creature, and Kodlak shuddered in relief.

“You have slain the beast inside of me. I thank you for this gift. The other Harbingers remain trapped by Hircine, though. Perhaps from Sovngarde, the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds. It would be a battle of such triumph. And perhaps someday, you'll join us in that battle. But for today, return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your victory. And lead the Companions to further glory.”

He faded away and Marius cursed. “If he gets eaten by Alduin-“

Vilkas’ expression was grim. “He’s made his choice. Kodlak isn’t stupid, only monofocused.”

Marius glanced around the tomb. “We better find Skjor and Aela. We need to execute the Silver Hand before we return to Jorrvaskr.”

Skjor and Aela were just entering the tomb as they exited. “We found them at Driftshade Refuge,” the Huntress announced. “It’s in the southern Pale, more or less.”

“Kodlak’s been sent to Sovngarde. I pray he has the sense to remain hidden from Alduin in the mists,” Marius fretted.

“Hircine would have protected him,” Skjor sighed. “We better hurry then-“

There was a burnished shield laid at Ysgramor’s feet, forged from mirror-bright, blue-silver Skyforge Steel. The surface began to shimmer with a faintly turquoise light, drawing curses and unsheathed weapons from the other Companions. “It’s alright,” Marius assured them hastily. “I think Laina’s trying to contact me.”

He fed his magicka into the shield, completing the spell, and the distorted reflection of Laina appeared. “Whatever you’re doing, drop it and get your arses back to Jorrvaskr,” she ordered. “Farkas is beside himself at the thought of Kodlak becoming Alduin-chow, Vignar’s called the leaders of the civil war to Jorrvaskr to make a truce, and we need to hurry back to High Hrothgar to learn the Shout that will nail the World-Eater’s arse to the wall.”

“We need only to take out the trash at Driftshade Refuge,” promised Skjor. “Four Companions, two of them werewolves, will make short work of them.”

“You’ve got until sunset tomorrow, or Kodlak’s being burned without you,” the mage answered bluntly. “We’re running out of time.”

“We’ll be there,” Marius assured her. The image winked out.

Skjor’s smile was grim. “I hope you two know how to run.”

Marius was, sad to say, no longer in his prime two hundred years after the Oblivion Crisis and a century of pretending to be a deskbound bureaucrat. But with the liberal use of stamina potions, he and Vilkas kept pace with the werewolves, and by dawn they reached Driftshade Refuge.

There was nothing particularly honourable in the execution of the Silver Hand and the burning of their citadel. Skjor and Aela had done a little preliminary purging of their ranks before Kodlak’s death as a retaliation for Farkas and a whelp getting attacked several months before Helgen – they’d lost the whelp, a promising lad named Erik. But despite the necessity, there was no honour in what they did, and Marius was relieved to see the same self-disgust in Vilkas’ eyes as was in his own heart.

It was a swift but melancholy return to Jorrvaskr, sunset reddening the sky as they climbed the stairs to the Skyforge. “Harbinger,” greeted Eorlund Grey-Mane. “It is for you to lead the service and light the pyre.”

“That _elf_ is Harbinger?” yelped a voice in the back of the crowd.

“ _Marius Aurelius_ , hero of the Oblivion Crisis, is the Harbinger,” Aela corrected icily. “If you Stormcloaks have a problem with it…”

“Can we leave the politics for a few hours?” Laina asked acidly. “We have a Harbinger to burn. And if anyone wants to doubt the honour of Marius, we can discuss it in the battle-circle, for he pulled me from the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple.”

Farkas rested an arm across her shoulders and she took his massive paw in her long, fine-boned fingers.

It was a briefer ceremony than Marius expected, Aela of all people leading the chant until Vilkas murmured in his ear that it had been her bloodline’s duty since Hroti Blackblade, and soon enough he was lighting the pyre. Eorlund had already gathered the shards of Wuuthrad, calling Farkas to his side to heat the metal with the fire-breathing Shout, and Laina was already laying out alchemical ingredients on the workbench.

Taking a deep breath, Marius led the guests into Jorrvaskr for the wake.

“Farkas will chair the negotiations because only the Dragonborn will be able to override Ulfric’s pride and Tullius’s pragmatism,” Vignar told him after the first memorial blot. “Laina’s already had to cast Muffle three times today.”

“Twice on her mother,” Thorald reported with relish.

“I take it Sigdrifa’s not your favourite in-law?” Marius asked, accepting a flagon of mead from Njada.

“Ulfric could have done a lot better, politics or not,” Vignar admitted. “We’re trying to talk Laina into taking the Grey-Mane name. It isn’t right she’s clanless and from what I hear, the Aurelii aren’t worth seagull shit in the scheme of things – excepting you, of course.”

“We are what we are,” Marius sighed. “I’m given to understand her half-brother Cirroc doesn’t use the name, Irkand never fathered children, and even Rustem has abandoned it. I am, for good or ill, the last of the Aurelii.”

“But the best,” Vignar assured him.


	12. Season Unending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism, war crimes, genocide, imprisonment and torture. Time for the fustercluck that is Season Unending, folks!

“Okay, we got Tullius, Elisif, Ulfric, Rikke, Sigdrifa, the Stormspawn-“

“I resemble that,” Bjarni grinned from his side of the table, interrupting Jarl Balgruuf.

“-Myself, the Companions, a Thane of Winterhold… Anyone else I’ve missed?” Balgruuf finished, giving the boy a glare.

“You forgot us,” drawled an old grey-haired man in Forsworn armour as he pushed his way through the crowd, accompanied by Catriona and Laina’s cousin Kaie.

“And myself,” remarked a handsome Redguard with a dragonbone bladed spear. “I’m sure Tullius has Irkand around too for this little family reunion.”

“Rustem _fucking_ Aurelius,” grated Tullius. “I should take your head-“

“The truce applies to everyone,” Farkas said testily, standing up in his seat. He was uncomfortable in the Harbinger’s chair, but Marius pointed out most of these idiots couldn’t find their arses without precise instructions and so it fell to the Dragonborn to sit at the head of the table. “Don’t cause trouble, ya won’t get any.”

“Before we decide to get bogged down in who did what to whom thirty years ago, may I remind you that every moment we piss away dealing with you fuckwits is a moment Alduin gets to devour the souls of the Nord heroic dead,” Laina added on the heels of his announcement. “So get your shit together, make an agreement, and let us get back to the work of saving the world.”

“That’s my girl,” Rustem said proudly as cheeks reddened around the table from anger or embarrassment.

“I’ll keep it simple then,” Balgruuf said, rising to his feet. “We need a truce until the end of the dragon threat. No fighting, no killing, no _political_ assassination…”

“Sigdrifa’s going to be bored for the next few months then,” Elisif observed snidely.

“I promise, Jarl Elisif, that shit’s getting shut down,” Rustem told her. “The Stormsword’s old school friend doesn’t run the Dark Brotherhood anymore, so we won’t be killing random Imperial officials for the Stormcloaks.”

“How reassuring,” Rikke said sarcastically, “Seeing as you shoved Goldbrand down Titus Mede’s throat three days ago.”

“Hey! Truce!” snapped Farkas. “Unless you lot all wanna get into the battle-circle an’ fight it out, we’re gonna talk it out like adults!”

“I’ll make our terms simple,” Ulfric said. “We get Markarth.”

Madanach scowled. “Like fucking hell you do-“

Catriona leaned over and murmured something in his ear, and then the King in Rags beamed beatifically. Farkas was fairly sure she said, “We can kill the Stormcloak bastards with impunity if they take over the Reach.”

“Only if we get Riften,” Tullius retorted tersely.

“None of ya gettin’ Markarth,” Farkas said flatly. “The Forsworn helped us, so reckon it’s high time they got a chance to rule ‘emselves, so long as they ain’t killin’ Nords and soul-trappin’ folks.”

“WHAT?” Ulfric’s outrage rattled the eaves of Jorrvaskr, but Tullius’ furious shriek was right behind it.

“I’m sayin’ the Forsworn done more to stop the dragons than either of ya has,” Farkas informed them. “Both sides been shittin’ on them.”

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, Markarth just can’t leave Skyrim,” Balgruuf said heavily. “We need its silver… and the Reach needs grain from the lowlands.”

“Maybe a Reach-blooded Jarl?” Marius suggested into the charged silence. “Idgrod the Younger, Avulstein Grey-Mane and even Laina South-Wind have Reacher blood in them.”

“Laina’s interdicted,” Tullius pointed out. “I’ve no particular quarrel with the woman, but after Rustem’s murder of the Emperor, we can’t allow an Aurelii anywhere near a position of authority.”

“What about Kaie and Avulstein? That binds the old Reach blood to an ancient clan… and with the kin-ties, the Stormcloaks can’t do anything about it with it being kin-harm,” Vignar rumbled.

“That never stopped Sigdrifa,” Madanach said flatly. “If I agree to this, I want her head on a platter. Ulfric’s your typical Talos-flavoured lowlander cunt, but Sigdrifa’s my grand-niece and she betrayed her own family.”

“Compromise,” Farkas said firmly. “Stormsword’s got a death sentence on her in the Reach. New Reach Jarl gotta have Reach-blood in ‘em. Markarth stays but Forsworn can worship so long as they ain’t doin’ nothin’ disgustin’.”

Everyone bitched and moaned but they accepted it. What choice did they have? No wonder Laina hated most of her family.

“If we must give, we should receive too,” Sigdrifa said. “I want Talos worship to be permissible in the Imperial Holds.”

Marius groaned. “The Thalmor will return when this is done, Sigdrifa. I know better than most. I was Ondolemar for a century.”

“We’ll deport Talos worshippers to the Old Holds,” Elisif decreed. “Gods know I don’t want any of your supporters in my territory.”

“It won’t be yours for long. You’re no kind of ruler,” Sigdrifa retorted.

“Neither are you, but here we are,” Laina observed. “What part of ‘Alduin is literally eating the heroic Nord dead for dessert’ did any of you miss? Take the terms so we can get on with it.”

“She’s right,” Egil said heavily. “We’ll accept it.”

“Egil,” Sigdrifa began, only to be silenced by her son’s harsh gaze.

“It is one thing to go into battle certain of Sovngarde, but another to spend lives in a fruitless battle that only makes the Dragonborn’s job harder. We’ve given and we’ve received. Do _not_ piss away the souls of the Stormcloak dead in your desire to win at all costs.”

“Well said,” Vignar approved.

“Does anyone else wanna bitch an’ moan or are we done?” Farkas asked of the gathered folks. “I gotta climb a bunch of steps to face off against Alduin in the next couple days. So pray for me, because I think I’m gonna need the help of the gods.”

“We will succeed,” Laina said softly. “Because there’s no other choice.”


	13. The End of Prophecy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism. Like Marius would miss out on the chance to fight Alduin, lol, so the questline is greatly truncated.

“You’ve been just made Harbinger an’ you’re coming to High Hrothgar with us?” Farkas asked in disbelief when Marius and Vilkas joined him at the doors of Jorrvaskr. Laina was in the marketplace arming herself with scrolls and potions for the battle ahead.

“I’m shocked that you’re shocked that I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Marius said dryly. “My mother’s grandfather was Akaviri. Woe betide me if I came to Heaven’s Reach Temple without applying katana to World-Eater.”

“We begun this together, brother, and we will finish it,” Vilkas added firmly.

“Yeah, well, don’t die bravely. I’m worried enough about Kodlak, don’t need ya two on my conscience,” Farkas finally said with unusual gruffness.

“You’re not worried about Laina dying bravely?” Vilkas asked, eyebrow rising.

“Laina’s dedicated. She’d turn her back an’ die a coward’s death rather than feed Alduin’s hunger.”

Marius sighed. “If she’d been alive during the Oblivion Crisis, we wouldn’t have half the grief now.”

It was a long walk to High Hrothgar, the seven thousand steps seemingly the longest part of it, and Marius contained his impatience as Laina and Farkas stopped at every shrine on the path. Laina had a deep faith in Kynareth, who had given the Nords the Thu’um, and so it had to be respected on this day.

“Read Elder Scroll, learn Shout, kick Alduin’s arse until he’s dead,” Farkas said on the threshold of the fortified monastery. “Any other ideas?”

“Try not to die,” Vilkas drawled sardonically.

“Focus on Shouting, love,” Laina told the Dragonborn. “Alduin will focus on you. Vilkas and Marius can flank him while I’ll throw boulders at his wings. Just keep the bastard on the ground.”

“That why I’m janglin’ with every bit of fire resistance jewellery ya could stuff on me?” Farkas asked.

“Yes. I _am_ an accomplished enchanter, after all.”

They entered High Hrothgar, to be met by an old man with an aquiline profile, hair of frosted iron, and bright blue eyes. “Dragonborn! What brings you back here?”

“We’re going to read an Elder Scroll at the time-wound on top of the Throat of the World, an’ when Alduin shows up, we’re gonna kick his arse,” Farkas said calmly. “Kinda what the Three Tongues did, but more permanent.”

“Are you _insane_?” yelped the old man and something in the twist of his expression reminded Marius of someone who’d gone missing a very long time ago.

_“Julius Martin?”_

_“Marius?!”_

Laina closed her eyes and muttered something very pungent in Akaviri.

“That didn’t sound very polite,” Farkas noted.

“I was making reference to my great-grandfather’s more outré sexual habits,” she answered.

“I have been celibate for a century!” Julius Martin snapped. “Such language is-“

“Shut up, please. We have a World-Eater to deal with,” Laina interrupted wearily. “I’m wrung out from dealing with family bullshit. I don’t need more.”

Marius gave the Greybeard a flat stare. “Why?”

“I believed I was the Last Dragonborn. I was obviously wrong,” Julius Martin answered with a sigh. “I thought you were in deep cover with the Thalmor?”

“I was until the Thalmor found out and the Dragonborn rescued me.” Marius sighed. “We needed you and you weren’t there. Your son died and took the Blades with him.”

“I know,” Julius Martin said softly. “Wulfgar told me.”

Vilkas shook his head in disgust. “Is anyone _not_ an Aurelii around here?”

“Paarthurnax?” Farkas asked dryly, earning a chuckle from Laina. “We got a dragon to kill. Kodlak’s soul depends on it.”

“May your blades be sharp against the wyrm’s hide,” Julius Martin whispered, showing that the Blade wasn’t quite dead in him.

Paarthurnax was far from the vicious tyrant depicted in the Akaviri records, instead being a worn, weary-looking dragon. “You have it. The Kel - the Elder Scroll. Tood kreh... qalos. Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal. Go then. Fulfil your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs.”

“Positions!” Laina snapped as Farkas walked over to a distortion in the air and unfurled the Scroll.

Time stopped for a long moment, then out of an empty sky arrived Alduin. A dragon made of nothingness, he roared something in the dragon tongue and fire fell from heaven… but Laina had raised a domelike Ward that protected them all.

“You’ve gotten better!” Marius panted as Farkas took a deep breath.

“Study does that,” Laina answered. “Flank him, dammit!”

Dragonrend manifested as an ugly burst of light that brought Alduin to earth, screaming in rage. “You have mastered the weapon of my enemies, but you are not their equal! I will feast on your soul in Sovngarde as I did your sire Jergen’s!”

Vilkas, always hot-tempered, went berserk and moving his greatsword faster than anyone had a right to, began to hack at Alduin’s right leg. The Skyforge Steel left deep gouges and the World-Eater howled in pain.

**_“FUCK YOU!”_** Farkas roared, the Nord Battle-Cry a Shout that rang the heavens themselves. Alduin flinched at that roar and then began to cry out in more than pain as turquoise bands of light wrapped themselves around his wings and began to crush them.

“STRUHN!” Laina Shouted just after Alduin brought the firestorm back to the mountain. Clouds boiled up from the north and lightning began to strike the dragon, rain quenching his fires.

Alduin, Marius realised, was truly nothing more than a child’s monster under the bed for all his might. When he tasted pain, when he felt fear… he was reduced to a toddler flailing against the dark.

Like a bolt from the blue, Paarthurnax dove from above and broke the World-Eater’s back. As Alduin’s head rose up in, his maw gaping in wordless agony, Marius dove beneath and drove the Oathblade up into the beast’s heart.

Alduin shuddered once, cried out in astonishment, and died.

The prophecy had been fulfilled. It was over.


	14. May We Have Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Well, folks, that’s it! Ending's abrupt, I know, but this was more an exercise in self-indulgence and fluff than an extended piece of literature. I hope you enjoyed it regardless.

“Are you sure you want to leave Jorrvaskr?”

Farkas nodded, seeing the hurt flash across his brother’s face. “Yeah. Everyone wants the Dragonborn ta handle their problems. My glory is overwhelming that of the other Companions an’ it isn’t fair.”

Vilkas’ mouth tightened but he nodded in acknowledgement. “You’re right. If you were Harbinger, things may have been different… but you’re not.”

“Winterhold isn’t so far away you can’t visit once a month,” Farkas assured him. “Besides… Well, couldn’t ask Laina to give up her job. She’d be useless in Jorrvaskr an’ she didn’t make no friends at the truce-Moot. Reckon there’s plenty for me ta do in Winterhold since Korir’s guard’s three snowbacks in a fur coat.”

Vilkas laughed. “True! But… as long as I can remember, we have been the Hero-Twins.”

“Didn’t no one tell ya? The bards are callin’ ya Vilkas the Mighty an’ your boyfriend Marius the Golden Blade. To hear them tell it, ya two beat the shit outta Alduin while I just Shouted him to the ground an’ Laina healed us all.”

“You’re joking,” Vilkas scoffed.

“Nope. Go to the Bannered Mare an’ hear Mikael sing the song himself.” Farkas grabbed his brother and pulled him into an embrace. “Gonna miss ya, even if I’m not that far away.”

“And I you.” Vilkas returned the embrace and released him. “It won’t be the same.”

“Nope. Somethin’ different.” Farkas sniffed the air. “Think I like the new.”

“You’re keeping the beast blood?”

“I have it on very good authority that Farkas will go to Sovngarde regardless of the wolf-blood,” Laina answered, stepping into the hall. Her hair was braided with feathers and she’d replaced her usual robes with ones of soft blue wool, an Amulet of Kynareth hanging around her neck.

“You’ve taken vows!” Vilkas blurted.

“I have. Winterhold was a sacred city once and perhaps with me and Farkas in residence, it will become so again.” The sorceress hugged herself. “It is… strange… to have lived through a prophecy and come out whole. My family’s very good at being damaged.”

“Good thing Farkas and I have never been beaten,” Vilkas said with a rare smile. “Do you know if…?”

“HUN KAAL ZOOR!” Farkas cried out, producing the ghostly form of Kodlak Whitemane.

“Tsun visited us in a dream and gave Farkas this Shout to call a hero from Sovngarde,” Laina explained as the former Harbinger smiled upon them all.

“Al-Du-In lied,” Kodlak whispered. “Jergen feasts with us, merry and glad as we await the final test of our best worth.”

Vilkas nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. “Thank you. For everything, Kodlak.”

“Thank _you_ ,” the ghostly warrior said. “I knew you would free us from the curse of Hircine… and restore honour to Jorrvaskr. I leave the hall in your hands.”

Then he faded away and Farkas found a smile.

“Ya hear that? Ya an’ Marius better keep Jorrvaskr on the right path or I’ll have to summon Kodlak to teach ya some manners.”

Vilkas glanced at the reforged Wuuthrad, now his to wield as Axe-Bearer, the traditional title of Jorrvaskr’s senior-most Companion if the Harbinger didn’t or wouldn’t wield the weapon. “If _you_ don’t behave, I’ll come to Winterhold to kick your arse.”

“Alduin may be dead, but I wager we’ll be all too busy to misbehave,” Marius said from behind them. “The civil war is getting warm again, the Thalmor will send new agents…”

“A reforged Wuuthrad will give them some pause,” Laina told the mer. “Long enough for them to think humanity will forget the Great War. It falls to us to prepare the next generation for that second war. Enough work, as you say, to not misbehave.”

“You are right.” Marius sighed. “A long way from Cloud Ruler Temple, isn’t it?”

“Yes. We were the last of the Blades. Now, our oaths are fulfilled.” Laina bowed her head. “Yogen wa owarimashita. Kore de sagyō wa kanryōdesu.”

“The prophecy is over. Our work is done.” Marius bowed his head. “May we have peace, for a little while.”

It was more than a little while and Farkas savoured every day of it.


End file.
